


Hard Times

by HaMandCheezIts



Series: Abuse and Aftermath [1]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: 1985, Abusive Parents, Accidental Death, Animal Abuse, Anorexia, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Assault, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bisexual Male Character, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Break Up, Coma, Confusion, Cutting, Depression, Despair, Divorce, Drunk Sex, Eating Disorders, Emergency Medical Technicians, Epilepsy, Erections, Father/Son Incest, Fist Fights, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, George is really ticked now, Horny Teenagers, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Incest, Linda figures it out, Lone Pine Timeline (Back to the Future), M/M, Male Slash, Mammett, Marty remembers some bad stuff & some good stuff, May/December Relationship, Medication, Medicine, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Molestation, Movie: Back to the Future Part II, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Parallel timeline ... or is it?, Police, Post-Time Travel, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Siblings, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Scientist Savior, Seizures, Sexual Confusion, Siblings, Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Threats, Time to tell Mom, Underage Sex, What happened to Jennifer?, You Thought Things Were Bad Before?, ambulance, teen death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaMandCheezIts/pseuds/HaMandCheezIts
Summary: This AU BTTF II fic is nowcomplete.(Note:I've recently made small edits to some chapters, and changed a few chapter titles.)Doc shook his head, sighing. "What we did last night, after you told me about your father, what we were just doing now – that was completely inappropriate. You’re vulnerable right now, and both times you had recently been aroused by your father, and I was taking advantage – ““I was not aroused by him! He disgusts me! He just effing tried to rape me!”"I know that, but as I said earlier, as you had mentioned yourself, George’s interactions with you did arouse you – not emotionally, but solely as a physical reaction. And with your age, your teenage hormones, you were left with that unfulfilled sense, that want. And I was only too happy to oblige you.” Emmett's face was grim. “I’m ashamed of myself.”“What are you trying to say? That I don’t feel anything for you? That my attraction to you was some remnants of being horny after what my dad made me do?” Marty’s voice was rising. “Or that you were some replacement, some ‘fix,’ to make me feel more in control?”
Relationships: Dave McFly & Marty McFly, Emmett "Doc" Brown/Marty McFly, George McFly/Marty McFly, Linda McFly & Marty McFly, Lorraine Baines McFly & Marty McFly, Marty McFly & Jennifer Parker, Marty McFly & Original Character(s), Marty McFly/Jennifer Parker
Series: Abuse and Aftermath [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098932
Comments: 30
Kudos: 75





	1. Alternating Parallels

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Just a Swingin'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21128675) by [HaMandCheezIts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaMandCheezIts/pseuds/HaMandCheezIts). 



> This is an AU _Back to the Future Part II_ story that explores one possible result of the altered timeline's effect on George McFly: Now confident and dynamic and drunk with power, George uses this strength to physically torment Marty. The fic begins as Doc drops Marty off at home after the trip to 2015, and it starts with a section pulled from my own story "Just a Swingin'." Since this fic is AU, the stories aren't precisely connected (but they're close enough for government work).
> 
> This is my first attempt at a "not so nice" story, but it was pretty easy and fun to write. What does that say about me? Anyway, any comments would be appreciated. 
> 
> -ck
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Back to the Future_ , Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, any of the McFly family members, or any of the other related characters (except for my original characters).
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doc drops Marty off at home after their trip to 2015 (this is AU, so there is no sports almanac situation in this story). Marty attempts to sneak into his house and find some smelling salts, which he plans to use to wake up the fainted Jennifer. Only, George McFly is waiting to ambush his wayward son. (Any Kansas fans out there? LOL)

_This fan art is done by Mcfly88, who has also begun a **Back to the Future**_ _fanfic,_ [Back to The Future Part IIII - The Ice Age.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081143/chapters/68807943)

**Saturday, October 26th, 1985**

**9:21 PM**

**Hill Valley, California**

Marty was having a hard time keeping his eyes open as Doc pulled into his driveway. The young man was vastly appreciative of the front-door drop off, as it was late, he'd time-traveled three times in half a day, and he was exhausted and sore. He levered up his car door, stepping out into the night.

"If you need me I'll be back at my lab, dismantling this thing!" Doc said as a goodbye. Marty affirmed his understanding and slammed the car door down. _Tomorrow_ , he thought. He'd help the man dismantle the time machine, and they'd talk, like they normally did when Marty visited. Typically, the teen would help the scientist build or repair or test his inventions, and during the work, the two would have meaningful conversations about everything from Einstein's theory on general relativity to the lack of nutrition in high school hot lunches.

Marty walked backwards up his driveway, watching the DeLorean as Doc backed it up into the street and then turned it to head out of Lyon Estates.

Running his hand through his hair, Marty headed for the gate entrance that led to the side of the house, and to his bedroom window. He was hoping to sneak inside and search the first aid supplies for some smelling salts, then grab his truck from the garage and head back to Jennifer's.

All of Marty’s well-intended plans fell apart, though, when he stealthily opened the gate only to see his father, standing outside Marty’s partially-opened bedroom window. George had his arms crossed and a definite look of _disappointment_ on his face.

“I came looking for you, son, and found your room empty. Again. We’ve talked about this, about you sneaking in and out.” George shook his head, his mouth tight. “I thought we understood each other.”

“Sneaking?” _How long has he been looking for me?_ Marty quickly tried to think of what day it was, what night it was. “No, Dad, I – We –“ He gestured weakly. “Jenn and I were at the lake – “

George shook his head again. “No, I know that’s not true. That’s what you told your mother, but I know better, Marty. For one, your truck is still here, has been all day. And two, I saw Doctor Brown show up in that unusually modified DeLorean of his this morning. That was him dropping you off just now, wasn’t it? You went off somewhere with him again. Would you like to tell me where?"

“Dad. . .” Marty looked around, swallowing uneasily. “It’s kinda late, can we just talk about this tomorrow?” He’d have to find a way to either dodge his father, or call Doc, otherwise Jennifer would be waking up on her porch on her own, with no idea of how she got there and what had happened. At least she’d be safe, but he'd feel like he was abandoning her, especially if she woke in the middle of the night and wondered why they weren't at the lake.

George was watching the teen expectantly, but when Marty didn’t answer the man’s question, he sighed heavily and took his son’s arm. “We’re not climbing into your window to get back in the house,” he said. “Come on.”

Marty dropped his head and let himself be pulled along, expecting George to head for the front door. He was already predicting the dining room table lecture and could visualize the sad, lost look on his mother’s face. So Marty was surprised when George instead tugged him toward the garage. Opening the side door, the man drew his son inside. George bypassed the light switch, as the light from the streetlight was bright enough to outline the large vehicle taking up half of the garage. Waving a hand at the new black 4 X 4, George again looked at his son with deep disappointment. “We get you this truck, your mother and I, and this is how you show your appreciation? By being dishonest and sneaking around?”

Marty felt his stomach plunge. Even though this wasn’t his original timeline, even though he barely remembered his parents gifting him the truck (he had a sense that it had been more George than Lorraine, as he had the hazy image of George handing him the keys), he knew his recent actions did not show any type of thankfulness. No, he was still half in his memories of wimp George and drunk Lorraine, parents who didn’t give him grand presents and reneged on offers to help him pay for an electric guitar. That George and Lorraine hadn’t pushed for much of anything, whether it was obedience or gratitude. And Marty had taken advantage of their lenience, as well as implementing the “dysfunctional family” designation to justify his actions, whether it was sneaking out occasionally, getting detentions at school (both for tardiness and for wising off), or telling his parents that he was going to a movie with the guys when he was really going to a movie with Jennifer. Although he and Jenn rarely watched the film.

George was waiting impatiently, and Marty sighed in defeat. “You’re right, Dad. I did lie to you. Jennifer and I . . . we, uh, changed our plans, because I had to help Doc with something, but I was going to go pick her up now. I just had to grab some stuff first, and I didn’t want to come in the front door because. . .”

George picked up the trailed off sentence. “Because you knew I’d want to discuss this . . . attachment you have to Doctor Brown. I don't suppose you'd tell me exactly what you 'helped' him with?" His father snorted. "No, you never say. Son, you’re spending too much time with that man. It isn’t right.”

“Not . . . right?” Marty repeated, dismayed. Whereas in his original timeline his parents had been initially wary of his relationship with Doc, they had eventually seen that the eccentric, unusual man was in actuality charismatic and kind, and that they could trust the man with their son. Now, from just a three word sentence, Marty had the definite idea that the new (well, new to him) confident George McFly didn’t approve of Marty and Doc’s friendship – didn’t approve of it at all. “What – what do you – “

George’s face softened at Marty’s floundering words, and he stepped forward to grasp his shoulders. “You had to know this, Marty.”

Marty shook his head, frowning at the cement garage floor. “No, Dad, Doc’s my friend – “

“Shh,” George said. His hands began to massage Marty’s shoulders, and he pulled the boy in toward his body. “It’s all right.”

For a moment, for a very brief moment, Marty relaxed, viewing the touch and the quiet words as nothing more than harmless consoling. Then George’s hands slid off of Marty’s shoulders and ran lightly down his back, and the teen felt his heart begin to gallop in his chest. With a breathy grunt Marty jerked back, but at the same time George’s hands moved to his son’s arms, grasping them firmly.

“Dad, what – what are you doing?” Marty whispered.

George smiled craftily at the question, laughing softly. Still gripping one of Marty’s arms, George lifted his other hand to run his fingers through his son’s thick hair. “I know, this is unexpected. Not our usual haunt. But that makes it more exciting.” George bent his head down, nuzzling at Marty's throat, his fingers now tickling at the nape of his son’s neck.

The contact, relaxed and passionate at the same time, and the words _not our usual haunt_ sent Marty’s mind whirling. _We’ve done this before? No, the previous Marty and . . . **Dad**. . . have done this before? _

It couldn’t be. It _couldn’t_.

George’s nuzzles had become soft kisses, trailing up Marty's throat to his ear, and back again. “That Doctor Brown is just too old for you, son. Can he even get it up anymore?" George chuckled lightly into his neck, sending repulsed shudders through Marty that George mistook as quivers of arousal. "You can’t tell me he makes you feel like this.” The older man’s hand left Marty’s arm and instead strayed down to Marty’s crotch. George cupped his son’s cock through his jeans, squeezing firmly.

Marty pulled back again, and this time it was so sudden and rough that he broke from George’s hold. The older man’s fingernails scraped against Marty’s neck, leaving a trail of scratches that neither noticed. Marty attempted to back well away from George, but found himself impeded by the parked Toyota. His hands flailed behind him, feeling the smooth finish of the vehicle, looking for something, anything, with which to defend himself.

George, for his part, was viewing his son with a wary expression. “Marty? Are you all right?”

Marty stared at his father for several seconds, his blue eyes wide and fearful, before he replied. “No!” he said hoarsely. “No, Dad, this is . . . _incest!_ ”

The watchful expression was replaced with one that looked like amusement. Then George was approaching him with intent, his eyes glinting in the light shining through the small open door. “Marty, we stopped defining this years ago.”

_What the fuck . . . **YEARS?**_

The possibility made Marty feel faint. His legs shook and his knees buckled, and there seemed to be a gap, an intangible moment of time with no thought, no emotion, no sense. When he finally came back to himself, slow and muzzy, the first sensation he was aware of was the coldness of the garage floor, seeping in through his jeans and slightly numbing his knees. The second sensation was hearing panting breaths, seeming to be coming from him and from around him. The last sensation was sight. Marty blinked several times, trying to understand the fuzzy images in front of him that were too close, too blurred. 

When his vision fully focused, Marty saw with horror that his father was standing above him, pants and briefs around his ankles, and that his erect penis was full in Marty’s face. One of George’s hands was splayed against the pick-up, bracing himself, while the other hand was sliding back and forth on his swollen cock. But even more than pleasuring himself, it seemed the hand that George had on his cock was there instead to direct it – into Marty’s mouth ** _._**

The direction was not precise. Marty realized dimly that George was expecting to be met half-way, that when Marty had earlier sunk to his knees in shock, the position had confirmed to George that his son was agreeable to the non-haunt event. Marty's stomach clenched in disgust and terror, and again he thought of the Marty he'd replaced, the Marty he'd watched go back in time less than a day ago. Incredulously, it seemed that Marty probably often - and possibly willingly - took his father’s dick into his mouth.

_**YEARS???** _

As there was no true aim, when the tip of George’s penis finally met its general mark, it bumped underneath Marty’s bottom lip. Pre-cum smeared onto the teen's face. And that was the ultimate trigger.

With a surprising burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, Marty shoved his father back, hard. The teen let out a guttural scream as he pushed back against George’s thighs, causing the man to stumble back in surprise. George lost his footing as his feet tangled into his lowered pants, and he went down awkwardly with a yell of pain. With barely a look at his disheveled, half-naked father, Marty sprang to his feet and ran wildly for the door of the garage, breaking out into the night air.

He ran for his life.

He’d run maybe eight blocks, winding in and out of backyards and ducking behind bushes or trees any time he heard a car, before he thought he might be safe, that either he’d lost his pursuer or that his father wasn’t even searching for him. Marty paused near a privacy hedge, allowed himself to catch his breath, and then was violently sick. He bent nearly double, his hands on his knees as he vomited what little was in his stomach and then heaved bile a few times for good measure.

When Marty felt he could move without gagging or passing out, he started to run again, this time straight and with no detours, directly to Doc’s place.

As he ran, he didn’t realize tears were coursing down his cheeks.

* * *

Emmett was uneasy.

After dropping Marty off at home, the scientist had driven to his converted garage. He'd opened the gate on the surrounding fence, unlocked the side door of the garage, opened the large doors from the inside, and lastly had driven the DeLorean in. He'd then re-locked the doors. His keys had worked fine, the lab had looked the same, Einstein had hopped out of the time machine and had gone straight to his dog bed . . . but still Emmett was uneasy. Flipping on all of the lights, he wandered slowly around the living area of garage, checking telltale details. The items in the fridge were all familiar: several Petri dishes of experiments he’d been working on (labeled with dates and times written in Marty’s confident hand), an almost empty container of Chinese food, condiments, a few cans of Pepsi Free. The clocks were all ticking in solidarity, the names of the records in the jukebox were all correct, and the amplifier/speaker and nearby bookcase were still in a state of partial ruin. He and Marty had done a cursory clean-up when they had come back to the garage right after the boy had returned from 1955, and the area did show the marginal effects of that. But. . . something. . .

Emmett moved into the garage proper and stood looking at the time machine. He’d told Marty he’d be dismantling it. But Marty was probably on his way to check on Jennifer by now, and if Emmett didn’t immediately start on the dismantling project, the teen wouldn’t know. Turning briskly from the DeLorean, the scientist again entered the living quarters and began to pace, disturbing the half-asleep Einstein. Emmett mumbled to himself in frustration. Why was he second-guessing himself? _Was_ there anything wrong? Or was he just over-tired and stressed and time-weary?

Emmett’s contrary thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud, insistent rapping on the side door, followed by Marty’s voice, cracking with obvious emotion. “Doc! Doc, please, let me in! _Doc!"_

Briefly wondering why Marty didn’t use the key under the mat, Doc moved quickly to the door, unlocking it and gaining his friend entry. Marty burst inside, slammed the door behind him, shot the bolt, and then turned to face Emmett.

“Marty, what is – “ Emmett’s question died in his throat as Marty threw himself at him, wrapped his arms clumsily around the man’s waist, pressed his face into his chest, and began to sob. Doc was initially shocked and then immediately concerned, and spoke soft reassuring words to the teen as he moved him further into the living area of the garage. Emmett guided Marty toward the bed, meaning to get the boy sitting down. If anything that seemed to upset Marty more, so with apologetic noises the scientist tried the arm chair instead. That idea went better, and soon Emmett was detaching the teen’s desperate grip and easing Marty into the chair. Emmett stood over Marty, absentmindedly rubbing the young man’s back as he continued to speak softly. Einstein had roused himself and had also wandered over, and he now had his head propped on Marty’s knee, looking up at the teen with doleful eyes.

When Marty’s sobs had reduced to hiccups, Doc tried again. “Marty, what is wrong? Why are you so upset?”

“We’re not back, Doc,” Marty said, wiping a hand roughly across his eyes. “This can’t be 1985. It can’t be. Something’s gone wrong.”

Emmett pulled up a nearby stool, and sat on the edge of it, looking closely at the teen. “Oh, it’s 1985.” Marty shook his head violently, causing Doc to look thoughtful. “I do know I had a feeling things weren’t quite right, myself. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. It could possibly be a parallel timeline. . . I'd have to research it further." He pursed his lips. "For one, we'd conceivably have doubles in a parallel timeline, although I have no reference on which to base that."

“Parallel?” Marty questioned, then shook his head again, this time in dismissal. “Whatever. I don’t know what might've happened, but things are. . . _bad_.” Marty shuddered, pulling his arms around himself and rocking his body. “My . . . dad . . . “

Emmett nodded, but didn’t interrupt. He waited patiently, his face the picture of unwavering support.

“My dad, he was . . . waiting for me. He said he knew I’d snuck out, even though I hadn't, not really, but I guess that doesn't matter." He took a deep breath. "It just seemed like he was mad, disappointed, you know?” Marty ground his knuckles into his eyes and sniffled loudly. “But it was more. He walked me to the garage, and he said I didn’t appreciate the truck he got me, and then. . . and then. . . “ Marty began to breathe heavily, feeling nauseous again. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned miserably.

He wasn’t aware of Doc moving away and returning, but when Marty opened his eyes an empty plastic bucket was on the floor in front of him. “Are you going to be sick, Marty?”

Marty gave a sharp bark of laughter. “I already was. I don’t think I have anything left.”

“What happened? Did your father hurt you?” Emmett was leaning close to Marty, his brown eyes somber and his expression expectant.

Fresh tears began to spill from Marty’s eyes. “He wanted have sex with me,” he blurted, running the words together. He gripped his hands into Einstein’s fur, taking solace in the dog’s warmth. "He tried to make me - satisfy him."

Emmett leaned back on his stool, closing his eyes briefly. He realized this just may have been the source of his uneasiness, this suspicion and regret. He sighed deeply, murmuring, “Finally."

Marty stared in astonishment at his mentor. _“What?”_ he choked out.

Emmett quickly waved his hands, grimacing. “No, no, Marty, you don’t under– What I mean is, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me what’s been going on. Your brother had thought your father was abusing you, or that _something_ was wrong, but you wouldn’t admit it, you wouldn’t say anything, and we had no proof – “

Marty hiccupped softly, then released Einstein and leaned forward to grab the plastic bucket, lowering his head into it. Another series of retches tore through him, threatening to expel everything he’d eaten over his entire life. Then abruptly dropping the bucket, Marty stood and headed straight toward the door.

“Marty! Wait, stop!” Doc was right behind him, and reached out to grasp his arm. Marty whirled around, his face pale and terrified, and instinctively slapped the scientist’s hand away. He next pushed heavily against Doc’s chest, shoving the man back several feet so that the scientist tripped over Einstein, who yipped indignantly.

And then Marty crumpled to the floor.

Untangling himself from his unhappy sheepdog, Emmett went over to Marty and knelt on the floor next to him. The distraught teen now had his knees pulled up to his chest and his head lowered; Doc could only see the back of Marty's tousled hair, the gentle bend of his neck. The older man reached out hesitantly and touched Marty gingerly on the shoulder. “Marty – “

The teen lifted his head. “Dave told you something was going on?” Marty asked, his voice flat.

Doc nodded slowly. “It was last year, after he came to see you on your sixteenth birthday. He said the last few times he’d visited from college, he’d noticed that things between you and your father were . . . different. Strained. He said the two of you were trying hard to behave normally, but it was obviously an act, and he thought you seemed skittish around your pop. He’d said something to your sister and your mom, but they had both told him he was imagining things. David started to think they were right. After all, he’d been gone a few years . . . Even now that he's home, he still sees you less than they do. The last he spoke to me, he said it was maybe just that you’d gotten older and were in a rebellious phase, and that you and your dad were butting heads.”

“Dave – Dave went to college?” Marty shook his head quickly, as if to shake out one memory and replace it with another. “Yeah, right. He did. Of course he did.” Dave had been bright enough to take a college course during his senior year of high school, and had continued that trend in college, graduating with honors in May. “You’re telling me he noticed this over a year ago?”

“At least,” Doc nodded. “Although he didn’t know exactly what he noticed. Just that things were odd. He tried to get you to talk about it, and I tried, but you were adept at deflecting the questions, or you would say that everything was fine. You were very believable; there wasn’t the slightest bit of guile.”

Marty was staring directly at Emmett, a wrinkle of frustration creasing the middle of his brow, and Doc gazed back just as intently. So it was that the older man saw the exact moment when the memory ripple caught up with Marty. The wrinkle disappeared, the blue eyes widened in shock, and the young man began to shake.

“I was fourteen,” he said, his voice little more than a whimper. His Aunt Sally had gotten remarried, and it had been a big event, as her first wedding had been at a courthouse and she’d wanted this second wedding to be one everyone would remember. And Marty had sure as hell remembered it. He and his siblings had been in the large wedding party, along with seven other friends and family members. Marty had been the youngest of the five groomsmen, even younger than his cousin M.J., so the rest of the groomsmen had made it their mission to get the youngest and smallest groomsman falling-down drunk. The mission had been a wild success. George had volunteered to take the inebriated Marty home, not wanting Lorraine to have to leave her sister’s wedding early. When they had arrived home, Marty had been varying between giggling uncontrollably or half-asleep and incoherent. He hadn’t thought to question why George brought him into the study that adjoined the master bedroom, instead of depositing Marty in his own room. He hadn’t noticed George locking the study door. And when George had started to undress him, Marty had just thought his father was trying to keep the rented tux from getting any more vomit on it. But then George had removed Marty’s underwear, and when the boy had tried to fight back, the man had just been too focused, too fervid, and too strong.

Marty started breathing rapidly, large whooshing inhales and exhales, and Emmett reached out to firmly grip the teen’s shoulders. “Marty, slow your breathing down,” he said, concerned. “You’re going to hyperventilate.”

“I can’t – this can’t – this is _real?_ This is – what’s real?" Marty gasped the words out between breaths. This was his “better” 1985? This is what a strong, self-assured George McFly became? A man who took advantage of – hell with it, raped – his fourteen-year-old son when he was too drunk to fight back? A man who forced his son to continue the incestuous relationship, to _reciprocate_ it, using any and all types of manipulation, rewards, and threats? “You enjoyed it the first time, I know you barely remember it, but trust me, you _loved_ it.” “You want that new guitar, Marty? You know what you need to do. You need to earn it.” “Don’t even think of saying anything to your mother, it would kill her. And it would be all over town. It would be all over your _school_.”

Even the Toyota, gifted from both of his parents, had come with a secret condition from his father: the only "parking" that would be done in the pick-up would be between him and George.

The day after his aunt's wedding, Marty hadn't left his room; in fact, he'd barely left his bed. Curled up under the blankets, his face pressed into his pillow, he’d rejected anyone who'd called: his mother attempting to check on his health, Dave saying goodbye before heading back to college, even Linda commiserating by reminding him that her first - and so far only - hangover had coincidentally also been after a family celebration (George's parent's 50th wedding anniversary party, not quite a year prior). The three unsuccessful visitors had all concluded that Marty’s self-isolation was a product of humiliation and hangover symptoms.

Only George and Marty had known the truth.

Again fearing that he might pass out, even while seated on the floor, Marty dropped his head, lowering it between his knees. Feeling an extraordinary sense of protectiveness toward his young friend, Emmett began to rub Marty’s back again, slowly and gently. The younger man’s back hitched as he let out a strangled sob.

The sound of the sob tore a hole in Emmett’s heart. Of course the teen's confession was terribly upsetting, but by God, Doc felt _devastated_. The idea that this had happened to Marty, his Marty. . . Whispers of indecent thoughts began to seep into the scientist's brain. Emmett pulled his hand back to rub at his temple, muttering quietly to himself.

Marty raised his head. “Doc? Did you say something?” His face was streaked with tears, his eyes red-rimmed. Unable to stop himself, Emmett reached out with his hand to wipe the tears from Marty’s face, his thumb traveling feather-soft under each eye. Marty trembled, blinking rapidly, but he didn’t ask Doc to stop. After dispelling of Marty's tears, Emmett's hand moved shakily to the teen's neck, where the red scratches stood out. "You're hurt," he said angrily.

Marty brought one hand up to rest over Doc's, and a tinge of electricity passed between them at their touch. Emmett gasped lightly, then withdrew his hand and clamped both of his hands together. “This - this isn't right. . .” he said quietly, his voice faltering slightly.

The phrase, so recently spoken by his father, caused Marty to look intently at the scientist. “You know what my dad said?” the young man asked softly, suddenly composed. “Or hinted at? That we - you and I - that we were, well, together. Like a couple.” Like him and Jennifer. _Or, well, maybe not._ Strangely, Jennifer no longer seemed important. Marty wasn't sure, but he thought that might be related to his father's vague implications that he and Doc were more than friends. Which was something the teen now found he wasn't confused about at all. As ripples went, this one was more freeing than controlling, more expected than unthinkable.

Emmett, on the other hand, was taking longer to give in. Marty stared up as the flustered scientist stood, still worrying his hands together. “Your father told you that we were - intimate?”

Marty nodded wordlessly. He pushed himself up from the floor, never breaking his gaze from Doc’s. “And if we’re not in a parallel 1985, you’d know if he was right, wouldn't you? You have the memory of Dave telling you that something was wrong. You weren’t surprised when I told you what my dad tried to do. This is your only timeline.” Marty stepped closer to Emmett. “I’m the one with the two timelines, the two memories - my old 1985 and now this one. You should only have one memory.”

Emmett was backing up slightly, just as Marty was advancing. “Right?” Marty pressed.

And although Marty was in essence correct, Emmett _should_ only have one memory, he found he had competing recollections. One very faint, of a time when Marty was his employee, his assistant, his only true friend. But the other memory. . . It was stronger, growing by degrees, overwhelming the first fuzzy recollection.

Or was that mysterious feeling actually a memory? It could simply be an unconscious attempt to curb his typical desire (thirty years in the making, thank you). Emmett feared his impure intentions - as welcomed as they might be - would be ill-timed, as Marty was in such a vulnerable state.

Yet Marty was drawing even closer, in what could only be described as hunger. It seemed teenage hormones were an equal match for three decades of desire. Soon all Emmett was aware of was the clear blue of Marty's eyes, the smooth skin of his face, and the young, soft, delectable mouth. The goddamned _nearness_ of the teen. Doc felt the familiar urge start in his gut, a carnal warmth that expanded downwards. Unconsciously he licked his lips. Thrilled by the sight of Emmett's slicked lips, Marty's breath quickened, and he favored the scientist with a sly, seductive smile.

Emmett was powerless over that smile.

_Vulnerable state be damned._

__They reached for each other at the same time, Marty stretching up and Emmett bending down, and the kiss they shared was neither quick nor innocent. It was a kiss between two men who did it often, and did it well._ _

Doc’s first "memory" was obliterated the moment their lips met. His hands had grasped Marty’s arms at first, but soon they began to roam. Marty, understanding the movements, took Doc’s right hand in his own and guided it to the crotch of his jeans. Emmett immediately felt the bulge of Marty’s hard-on, and found himself smiling widely. “Oh, we have to do something about that, don’t we?”

Marty grinned back, then jerked his head toward the living quarters of the converted garage. "My thoughts exactly," he replied breathlessly.

And as the two men moved together to the bed, both shedding clothes in between gropes and kisses, Einstein yawned and crept back to his dog bed.

Now that all was right again with his two masters, maybe he could finally get some sleep.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**


	2. The "New" Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Marty and Doc admit their "parallel" timeline is more likely the timeline created by Marty's time travel, they must decide how best to deal with what happens next. 
> 
> _The two had been lying together serenely, reveling quietly in the skin-on-skin touch, when Marty asked idly, “What time is it?”_
> 
> _Emmett lifted his arm to study one of his multiple wristwatches. “Seven minutes before midnight,” he said, then lowered his arm to again rest it around Marty. “You’re not going to tell me you have an early meeting and have to leave, are you?”_
> 
> _Marty snickered softly. “Well, I would have school, but tomorrow’s Sunday. Mom won’t even miss me; she thinks I’m at the lake with – Shit!”_
> 
> _Fairly flinging Doc’s arm off, Marty stumbled out of the bed and began grabbing for his clothes in the scattered mess on the floor. “I forgot about Jennifer, completely forgot about her, because I was too focused on getting you into bed!” He waved in Emmett’s general direction, then pulled on his underwear. “Damn it Doc, where are my pants?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had plans to reach a point in this chapter, but as usual, my natural wordiness got away from me. There will now be further chapters. Expect Lorraine and George to make an appearance, along with Marty's siblings. Also, I'm not sure if this story should be changed from "Mature" to "Explicit" because most of my sex situations (so far) are not extremely detailed. I will probably check some similar stories and see how they are designated. 
> 
> -ck
> 
> As always, here is my Disclaimer: I do not own _Back to the Future_ , Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, any of the McFly family members, Jennifer Parker, or any of the other related characters (except for my original characters).
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.

**Saturday, October 26th, 1985**

**11:44 PM**

**Hill Valley, California**

“No! Stop it! Get – get away – get –“

Emmett had been sleeping peacefully, the deep, sound sleep of a man freshly sated, and it took him several moments before he understood what was happening. Next to him in the bed, Marty was thrashing amongst the covers, in the throes of a nightmare that was most likely a panicked memory. Pulling himself up on his elbows, Emmett reached over to grasp the teen’s shoulder, jostling it gently. “Marty. Marty! Wake up.”

Doc expected he would need to shake the young man again, but Marty’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and with a shuddering gasp he moved far from Emmett’s grasp. “Don’t touch – “

Marty’s voice broke off as his senses flooded in. He whipped his head around, taking in the reassuring sights around him. He wasn’t in George McFly’s study. He was in Doc’s lab/house/garage. He wasn’t being mauled by his father. He was in bed with Emmett L. Brown, first his best friend and more recently his lover.

He was safe.

Emmett was watching the teen warily, unsure if he should keep his distance, or console with his touch. Marty made the decision for him, crumpling against Doc’s chest and wrapping his arms around the man’s back. “Oh, God, Doc, I’m sorry,” he said, fighting back tears.

Emmett returned the embrace, dropping a kiss onto Marty’s head. “Nothing to apologize for. I understand.”

Marty lifted his head. “I don’t know why I dreamt about him. I know I’m safe here. I don’t remember having nightmares here before.”

Emmett was quiet for a time. He lightly rubbed Marty’s naked back, his fingers making slow circles. “I have a theory,” he finally said, his eyes narrowed in thought.

“What?” Marty was moving his fingers over Doc’s back as well, although his touch was meandering toward Doc’s waist. He was still nestled against the man’s chest.

“You were keeping your father’s acts secret; you didn’t want me, or anyone else, to know. Because you feared I’d perceive what was happening if you spoke in your sleep, you probably never slept well when you were here, or deep enough to enter into true REM sleep. And as you know, dreams occur more often in REM sleep.” Marty rolled his eyes affectionately at Doc’s propensity to break into impromptu lectures. “Now that I know about George’s conduct,” the scientist continued, “you no longer have to worry about unconsciously letting me know about it in your sleep. So you were sleeping deeply just now.” Emmett pulled back slightly, so that Marty dropped his hands. The older man looked seriously at the teen. “You have been having nightmares at home, I’d surmise.”

Marty nodded slowly. “Yeah. A . . . few. They’re as bad as . . . as when it happens. I just want them to stop.”

Emmett ran the back of his hand down Marty’s face, tracing his lips with his thumb. “I might not be able to stop the nightmares, but your father will not touch you again. I will make sure of that.”

Taking Emmett’s hand in his own, Marty pressed the man’s hand to his mouth, kissing it. Then drawing Doc’s arm around him. Marty cuddled into the older man’s body, and closed his eyes. Doc rearranged the sheets, recovering them both, and then tightened his embrace around the teen.

The two had been lying together serenely, feeling the other’s chest rise and fall and reveling quietly in the skin-on-skin touch, when Marty, not trusting his own watch, idly asked, “What time is it?”

Emmett lifted his arm to study one of his multiple wristwatches. “Seven minutes before midnight,” Doc said, then lowered his arm to again rest it around Marty. “You’re not going to tell me you have an early meeting and have to leave, are you?”

Marty snickered softly. “Well, I would have school, but tomorrow’s Sunday. Mom won’t even miss me; she thinks I’m at the lake with – _Shit!”_

Fairly flinging Doc’s arm off again, Marty stumbled out of the bed and began grabbing for his clothes in the scattered mess on the floor. “I forgot about Jennifer, completely _forgot_ about her, because I was too focused on getting you into bed!” He waved in Emmett’s general direction, then pulled on his underwear. “Damn it Doc, where are my pants?”

Emmett sat up in the bed, watching the younger man flit around the converted garage. “Jennifer is safe at her home, Marty. And as we left her there roughly three hours ago, it’s conceivable she’s still asleep on the porch.”

“Yeah, if her parents haven’t found her! What if they woke her up, and she’s all confused because she isn’t at the lake with me, and – There they are!” Marty found his jeans, partially hidden under Emmett’s longer trousers, and put them on so quickly he almost lost his balance. His shirt was located next, at the base of the jukebox.

“You said that her parents turn in early, are usually in bed by nine, correct?”

“In bed, but probably not asleep!” Marty was now pulling his Nikes onto bare feet, not wanting to take the time to search out his socks. More or less fully dressed, he stood in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips, and stared at the man still in the bed. “Are you just going to sit there and watch me?” he demanded.

Emmett smiled, shaking his head marginally. “You are a sight,” he admitted. Pulling the top sheet off of the bed and loosely draping it about himself, the man rose and walked slowly over to Marty. “You have your shoes on the wrong feet, your shirt is on inside-out, and you’ve neglected to fasten your fly.” Reaching for Marty’s zipper, Emmett’s long fingers instead further parted the opening of the teen’s pants. Exploring inside, he dipped a roaming hand underneath the waistband of Marty’s briefs.

Marty inhaled sharply, an aroused shiver running through him at the unexpected, but not unwelcome touch. “Doc, we – we have to _go_ – “

Emmett applied a gentle squeeze before removing his hand with a put-upon sigh; he then used both hands to zip Marty’s jeans. Marty winced and fell back a step, as the presence of Doc’s adept fingers, however fleeting, had prompted a partial hard-on. “You cock-tease!” he gasped.

Emmett shrugged, wrapping the sheet around himself a little tighter. “Consider it payback for implying that you were wasting your time with me instead of rescuing Jennifer.”

“Oh, c’mon, Doc!” Marty moaned. “You know I didn’t mean anything by that! I just feel like a heel already, leading her on, and I owe it to her to at least make sure she’s okay. Considering I’m probably going to be breaking up with her this weekend, instead of what we were gonna do. . .” Dropping onto the couch, Marty switched his shoes to the correct feet. Einstein wandered over groggily and sat in front of the couch, yawning hugely.

Emmett sat down next to the boy, his head tilted curiously. “What were you going to do this weekend?”

Looking up to see Doc’s anxious expression, Marty exhaled, then set a hand reassuringly on the man’s knee. “Sorry. I guess I should have said what _she_ thought we were gonna do. Because I don’t think I could’ve gone through with it.”

Emmett moved slightly, so that Marty’s hand was dislodged from his knee. “I recall you implied that you were not unacquainted with sex when we started our physical relationship. As I had not known about your father, I had believed your abstract reference was Jennifer. . . Are you telling me now that you and Jennifer never consummated your relationship?”

“Consu – _oh_. No, Doc, we’ve never slept together.” Marty was suddenly embarrassed, both with the topic and with the knowledge that his only full-fledged sexual encounters, pre-Doc, had been with his father. He huffed out an exhale. “Sex with Jenn didn’t feel right _before_ you and I got together, and it definitely didn’t feel right after. We got close,” he allowed, “it’s not like all we ever did was kiss.” He slanted a look up. “Although that was kinda all I could do at the start. After everything my dad’s done to me, I didn’t know if I was . . .’normal’ that way, you know?” The teen rubbed his hands over his knees nervously. “I didn’t know if I’d be attracted to girls.” He stopped, his face reddening as he realized he’d referenced a heterosexual relationship as “normal.” “That was before we got together,” Marty said quickly, almost defensively, waving a wild hand between his chest and Emmett’s.

Emmett murmured softly, catching Marty’s hand and squeezing it encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, the teen continued. “I think dating Jennifer, and finding out that I did like doing things with her, making out and everything, helped me realize that I had my own sexual identity, that I wasn’t just a plaything for my dad.” Marty was now crossing his arms around his chest in a defensive manner. “I know that my ability to have a . . . physical relationship with Jennifer really helped me realize I could do it with you. But now that we’re together, I can’t keep pretending with Jenn. It’s not fair to either of you. It’s been what – almost two months now.” Marty squinted, calculating in his head. “That’s it, right? Since Labor Day weekend – “ He abruptly dropped his arms, looking at Emmett with wonder. “Holy shit. I remember _all_ of this. What my dad did to me, my bogus relationship with Jennifer, our first time. . . How?” 

Emmett tipped his head back, looking up at the ceiling. He reflexively patted the couch, and Einstein immediately leapt up, shoving his head underneath the scientist’s hand. Emmett scratched the dog around the ears, still looking up with a distant expression.

While the doc was surmising, Marty settled deeper into the couch cushions, again wrapping his arms around himself, running through the memories that had settled with sudden clarity into his mind. He could recall late June - maybe a week after the Solstice Festival - when he and Jennifer had found themselves alone at her house, her parents at some fundraising event. They had fooled around on the couch, which was nothing new, as they had reached second base in their relationship around Christmas (and had dallied briefly at third base on Valentine’s Day). But this specific time had progressed to both teens losing a good amount of clothing and _almost_ doing the deed. Marty had been ready, Jennifer’s kisses and fondling and touching of a certain body part had made sure of _that_ , but he’d pulled back painfully at the last minute, acutely aware of how his father could also get him hard (and more), and suddenly unsure if there was a difference between the two styles of arousal. Jennifer had assumed his abrupt change of heart was his reluctance to fucking her on her living room couch, instead of someplace possibly more romantic and definitely safer. As it was, it was little more than ten minutes later when Jennifer’s parents had returned . . . to find the teens cuddled on the couch, watching the end of _Friday Night Videos_. There had been no evidence of the near-coitus. Marty had made sure of that by taking care of his hard-on by himself in the bathroom, and then cleaning up the mess and spraying a considerable amount of air freshener – just in case.

Then there was the memory of the Labor Day weekend party his parents had thrown, a combination late graduation party for Dave and an end-of-the-summer blowout; Uncle Milton and his kids had been there, along with Aunt Sally and her second husband, and Marty’s remaining grandparents (Lorraine’s father had died the year before). Jennifer of course had been at the shindig, as well as whichever guy Linda had been dating. . . Hell, even Biff had been there.

And Doc had come in his Scientific Services van, bearing bags of his special slow-melting "ice" for the drink coolers scattered around the backyard. It had been hellishly hot and humid, and most of the party-goers had sat in lawn chairs or at picnic tables, fanning themselves and placing the cold cans of soda and beer on their foreheads. A couple people had gotten heat-sick, Jennifer one of them, and Marty had driven her home. When he’d returned to the party, several attendees had gone inside to sit in the air conditioning, leaving only the young people still outside in the dusk, shooting the shit and drinking lukewarm beer.

Well, the young people and Doc. The older man had come mainly because Marty had invited him; he got along well with Lorraine (his opinion of George had been fine, just not exceptional), but he’d refrained from going inside and associating with Marty’s extended family, as they really only knew him as that odd crackpot friend of Marty’s, the one who lived in a garage. Instead, when Marty had returned from running Jennifer home, he’d seen that Doc was sitting at a picnic table by himself, nursing a can of Pepsi Free (which he’d started drinking fairly regularly, thanks to it sometimes being the only refreshment in the refrigerator at his place). Marty had watched his friend from a distance for a few moments, observing with amusement how the man was seated awkwardly, trying not to watch Linda and her boyfriend make out. Then, almost as if he had sensed Marty’s presence, Doc had turned around in his seat and peered behind him, finally catching sight of his friend. A wide, completely genuine smile had appeared on the scientist’s face, and something had happened in Marty’s chest then – an odd feeling had arisen, a mix of compassion and camaraderie and fondness . . . and attraction.

None of the feelings had seemed unfamiliar, or wrong. Except _maybe_ for Marty’s odd relief that Jennifer was temporarily out of the picture.

Several unusual events had happened next – when Emmett and Marty had discussed them later, both had inevitably used the word “destiny.” Doc’s van, usually very dependable, had refused to start. Marty had offered his chauffeur abilities again, and had driven Doc home in his pickup. Once they’d arrived at the converted garage, there was lightning and thunder in the near distance, the product of the heat and humidity that had been so prevalent all day. The opening of the garage door had coincided with a sudden loud crack of thunder, startling Einstein enough that he’d run out into the small yard, barking fearfully. Both Marty and Emmett had had to corner the dog to corral him back toward the garage, and by the time all three had gotten inside, they’d been summarily soaked by the sudden deluge of rain. Towels had been retrieved, Einie had been tended to, and then Doc had quickly changed in the bathroom, trading his wet garments for a dressing gown. When he’d exited the bathroom to carry his dripping clothes to the dryer, he’d finally seemed to _notice_ Marty, nervously hopping from one foot to the other and shivering slightly. The teen had rubbed his hair mostly dry with a towel, but his clothes had still been sodden, and sticking to him.

It had been almost like a bad porno. Doc had insisted that Marty get out of the wet clothes. By then Marty had started shivering harder and was unable to immediately comply (only partly because of being wet; a good amount of the teen’s quivering had been caused by a nervous arousal). Emmett had smiled softly, then had come to assist. Peeling Marty out of his clinging tee-shirt. Unbuttoning and unzipping the fly of Marty’s shorts (basically an old pair of cut-off jeans). Pushing the shorts off Marty’s hips. Emmett’s hands had started trembling at this point, and Marty had placed his hands on top of Doc’s with a reassuring nod, silently confirming his wishes. The teen had quickly kicked out of his shoes, so when his jean shorts dropped down they were able to be removed. And once he’d had most of his clothes off (only having on his briefs and his socks), the two had stood silently, gazing at each other in fascination. Emmett‘s eyes had been focused on Marty’s cloth-clad erection, and Marty had been staring at the view offered by the opening of the scientist’s dressing gown.

Later, when Marty was able to call home and apologize for his absence, he’d found the McFly family hadn’t been especially concerned when he hadn’t promptly returned after driving Doc home. As the revelers who had still been outside had had to run into the house when the rain had started, it had been assumed that Marty was waiting until the storm passed before coming home.

It seemed no one had considered that Marty’s disappearance was not due so much to the storm, but instead because he’d been relishing his first consensual sexual experience with a man.

Marty, lost in his suddenly whole memories, was initially unresponsive when Doc called his name. The older man reached out to gently take Marty’s chin in his hand, turning the teen’s head in his direction. “Marty.” He placed a hand on Marty’s arms, which were still wrapped around his middle. Marty flinched, and Emmett removed his hand, his eyes widening. “Are you all right?”

“I – oh, God, I don’t know.” Marty unwrapped his arms, then dropped his head into his hands. “I’m just so damn confused!” After rubbing his face vigorously, the teen stared miserably at Emmett. “Some of these ‘new’ memories are just _there_ , now, and the others are getting fainter, but then I can still remember things like how my mom was a drunk, and how our house was kind of crappy. . .”

He even had two memories of the late night/early morning experiment with the time machine. There was his original timeline, in which Marty had been mystified and concerned by Doc’s week-long absence, until he’d received the phone call Friday morning. And when he’d finally met Doc at Twin Pines Mall and had been video-taping the events, he remembered being shocked and amazed by the apparent “disintegration” of Einstein. Then there was the altered timeline. In that memory, Doc’s week-long absence had made Marty pissed and sullen, as he’d worried that the lack of communication meant that Doc had changed his mind about their scandalous (but otherwise satisfying) relationship. When he’d gotten Doc’s call at the garage _that_ morning, Marty had been stand-offish and brusque during their conversation. But when he’d grudgingly come to Lone Pine Mall to meet Doc, as soon as the scientist had exited the DeLorean (after backing it out of the van) the first thing he’d done was go over to Marty and kiss him with the passion of someone who’d been apart from his lover for a week.

“Marty, listen to me.” Emmett had reached to take both of Marty’s hands, massaging them lightly. “As best as I can extrapolate, the memories that are taking root right now in your consciousness are the more visceral ones. From romantic events, or those that have to do with physical intimacies. That’s why you now remember your recently altered feelings for Jennifer, and your amorous relationship with me.” Emmett’s hands ran up Marty’s arms, rubbing softly. “I believe that is also why you can now recall more details of your father’s molestation.”

Marty jerked noticeably at the word, his expression pained, and Doc tightened his grip on the teen’s upper arms. “That’s what it was, Marty. Or if you’d rather, we can refer to it as ‘sexual assault.’ Not naming the act lends to the idea that it was not wrong, or harmful.”

“It was definitely both of those,” Marty murmured, his voice thick. “In my original timeline my dad might have been a wimp and a loser, but at least he didn’t . . . assault me.” The teen angrily wiped at his eyes. “That George McFly was a pushover nobody, but he was decent and moral. I want to remember _that_ George McFly, but it’s getting harder and harder. What if – “ he looked up tearfully, “ – what if this timeline is the only memory I’ll ever have of my dad?

And as Emmett didn’t have an answer for that, the only thing he could think of to do was to take Marty into his arms, cradling the younger man against him. At first Marty was somewhat rigid, and then he melted into the scientist’s embrace. The sheet slipped down Emmett’s shoulders. Marty raised his arms from Emmett’s waist to his neck, and soon he was running his fingers over Doc’s bare collarbones, tracing a path to the man’s chest. Emmett caught up one of Marty’s hands and kissed it lightly, then leaned in to kiss a random tear that had trailed down Marty’s face. The teen tipped his head up, but when Emmett leaned in for a kiss, Marty suddenly drew back.

“Jennifer, Doc! You gotta drive me over there!” He waved at Emmett’s partial nudity. “And you gotta get dressed!”

* * *

The DeLorean was left in the actual remaining garage area of the converted garage; instead, Emmett and Marty chose to take the step-van over to Jennifer's. When the armed Libyan terrorists had interrupted the time travel experiment at the mall of indeterminate pines, Doc’s van had sustained bullet holes; fortunately the van’s engine and gas tank had avoided damage, so the vehicle was still drivable, if a little more of an eyesore than usual. 

Doc parked his van a block away from the Parkers' on request from Marty, who thought the vehicle would make too much noise and would possibly wake Jennifer’s parents. Clutching the little bottle of homemade smelling salts from Doc’s first aid kit, Marty jogged down the block to Jennifer’s house, and on seeing Jennifer still asleep in the swing, the teen let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. Tip-toeing up onto the porch, Marty sat on the edge of the swing and leaned over his. . . _girlfriend?_. . .shaking her shoulder. “Jennifer?” he whispered. “Jenn, wake up. Jennifer!”

He was prepared to uncap the smelling salts, but then Jennifer started to mumble incoherently. Waiting impatiently, Marty looked around uneasily and saw Doc peering around the corner of the house. The man made a pantomime of opening the bottle under Jennifer’s nose. Marty waved him back with a quiet grunt.

“Wha – Marty?”

Marty turned back quickly at Jennifer’s drowsy words. “Hey. Jennifer? You awake?”

The young woman was struggling into an upright position. “Marty. My God.” She swallowed, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, I feel so weird. Like I’ve been sleeping forever, but I’m still exhausted. And I had the strangest dream.”

Marty helped Jennifer sit up. “Ah, yeah. Um, you kinda really sacked out. I don’t know, maybe you’re coming down with something? I know people can have crazy dreams when they aren’t feeling well.” His hand went to the back of his neck, and he rubbed at it with a frown.

“I don’t know, maybe – Wait.“ Jennifer frowned as well. “What aren’t you telling me?” When Marty guiltily flicked his gaze away, Jennifer added narrowed eyes to her frown. “You only do that when you’re worried or upset about something,” she continued, nodding at Marty’s anxious gesture. Marty dropped his hand, placing in it his lap. _Damn._

As Marty wasn’t talking, Jennifer took the time to look around, finally seeing where she was. “How did I get here?” she said quietly, then lifted her arm so she could closely view her watch. “Twelve-thirty? Why am I out on the porch after midnight?”

Marty had to fight to not rub his neck again. He instead spread his hands out in a shrug. “Uh. You don’t remember? See, we went for a ride, but you just sort of fell asleep, and I brought you back home. . . “

“I came by your house around eleven in the morning. . . We were going to take your truck out to the lake. Are you trying to tell me I’ve been _asleep_ all day? On my _porch_?” Jennifer was staring hard at Marty. “You’re not telling me everything,” she repeated. “What is going on, Marty?”

Marty stared back, realizing that his breathing had quickened and his mouth had gone dry. He opened his mouth, closed it, then abruptly turned aside and hissed, “Doc! Help!”

Emmett popped out into the open, striding quickly up the walk. Jennifer’s eyes widened, and she lifted her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

Emmett smiled grimly. “We should go somewhere else to talk,” he whispered. “I think this may take a while.”

**_TO BE CONTINUED. . ._ **


	3. Relative Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doc and Marty tell Jennifer what really happened - or at least, most of it. Later, Doc convinces Marty that Lorraine needs to be told that her husband is an amoral lout.  
> 
> 
> _Marty returned his gaze to the table top. It was easier to look there than at Linda’s face. He didn’t know what her response would be to the question he had to ask . . . and if it was an affirmative response, he didn’t know if he’d be able to handle it._
> 
>  _“Linda, uh. . .” Marty cleared his throat. “I don’t – I, um, it’s about Dad. Has he . . . uh, has he ever hurt you?” The last five words were spoken in a rush, but they were clear._  
>    
> _The room became tensely silent. Marty could hear his heart, as well as feel it slamming into his chest. He lifted one hand to rub at his chest again, and Doc set a steadying hand on his shoulder._
> 
> _Linda was staring at Marty with wide, bewildered eyes. “Hurt . . . me? Do you – are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”_  
>   
>  _Lorraine’s expression was shocked as well. “Why would you ask her something like that, Marty?” she said, mystified._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this a three-chapter story, but I just kept writing, and writing, and eventually I had 17 pages in my Word file, and I still wasn't done! So even though I have most of the story written, I'm going to now post four chapters. The final chapter will be posted in a day or two. 
> 
> Thanks to anyone who is reading, and I hope you enjoy this story, or are at least entertained by where it is going.
> 
> -ck
> 
> My standard Disclaimer: I do not own _Back to the Future_ , Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, any of the McFly family members, Jennifer Parker, or any of the other related characters (except for my original characters).
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.

**Sunday, October 27th, 1985**

**12:51 A.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

They went to an all-night Denny’s, mostly because Doc’s last actual meal had been in 2015 (the first time he’d been there) and Marty’s last had been in 1955. The duo had eaten some of the leftover Chinese at Doc’s the night (well, early morning) of Marty's return to 1985 – after attempting to clean up a portion of the amplifier/bookcase mess – but the snack could hardly have been called substantial. At the most, it had been edible; Marty had brought the take-out to Doc’s himself on Wednesday night, eating a helping while watching crappy TV and hoping that Doc, who had been missing for several days, would finally materialize. The teen hadn’t told his parents of Doc’s unexplained absence, as he felt safe at Doc’s place even without the scientist (or Einstein) present, and he hadn’t wanted to suggest any reason why he shouldn’t spend an evening at the converted garage. After giving up on Doc around 9:30, Marty had tossed the rest of the Chinese food in the fridge, cleaned three days’ worth of food out of Einstein’s bowl, and made mental plans to check in again the next evening. But rehearsal with the Pinheads had run long on Thursday afternoon, and when Marty had stopped off at home (late) for dinner, he had found the house mostly deserted. Linda, who had become focused on paying her own way through design school, had been working her second job as a hostess at a fancy restaurant. Dave had been out with his co-workers at some sort of team-building social event. And Lorraine had been at her book club.

Only George had been home . . . and things had progressed the way they usually did when only George and Marty were home. After enduring a visit to George's study, the teen had had no ambition – or energy – to try and sneak out of the house and head over to Doc’s. He’d instead locked himself in his room as soon as he’d been physically able, and had been burrowed into his bed by nine p.m. Although he hadn’t fallen asleep for hours. Which was why he'd overslept on Friday, and had arrived at Doc's place later than his usual before-school check in. The fact that he'd used his skateboard instead of his truck had also been to blame for his tardiness, but George's car had been blocking the garage, and Marty had had no desire to approach his father that morning, not so soon after. . . well, after.

There wasn’t much noise or activity at the restaurant at nearly one in the morning, and at first Emmett was concerned that it would be difficult to talk candidly with Jennifer without someone – even just a busboy – overhearing. But the young woman seemed to understand the need for discretion, and the conversation took on an “in other words” quality. The time machine was only ever referred to as the DeLorean. The trip to the future was referred to as just “the trip.” And any other discussion that couldn’t be edited was spoken quietly – or dropped completely, at least whenever anyone came near.

Marty dug into his omelet while he let Doc give Jennifer a crash-course on the business of time travel, explaining why he’d needed Marty to accompany him to 2015 to sort out their kids, and how Jennifer’s own presence had been accidental. Jennifer had seen both Marty Junior and Marlene (Marty perked up a little at that point, as there’d only been a brief mention of his daughter – and no picture – in the _USA Today_ that Doc had shown him, the edition with Marty Junior’s arrest and conviction information). Jennifer herself had really only seen glimpses of the kids while she’d been hiding, so she didn’t have much to report other than a dry, “I’m pretty sure they both took after you.”

Doc waved off the interruption with his fork, which had a bite of pancake on it. “Their resemblance to either of you is not important right now,” he said quickly. Marty, who had been watching Jennifer, saw the young woman’s face show first irritation, then confusion. Marty dropped his gaze, swallowing hard on his last bite. He knew why Doc was now changing his tune, that the future children the scientist had asked Marty to rescue now might never exist. Lowering his own fork, he let his hand drop to his side, closing his eyes briefly as his heart pounded In his ears.

Marty’s hand had barely rested onto the smooth booth seat before Doc’s larger hand enveloped it. Emmett ran the thumb of his hand over Marty’s, and then intertwined their fingers. Marty sighed slowly, feeling his heartbeat settle. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Jennifer’s expression had changed from confusion to mild alarm.

“Jennifer?” Emmett said, also seeing how the young woman’s face had paled. “Are you all right? Is your meal disagreeing with you?”

“My _meal?”_ Jennifer repeated in disbelief. “I – What - How – “ She steepled her hands over her face, breathing deeply. “I should have known. I should have figured out something wasn’t right, when you sat by him instead of by me.” She cast one hand out at Marty, and chuckled weakly. “No wonder we got married in the Chapel O' Love. You didn’t want to be with me, not really. Not enough for a fancy wedding, a big show of our ‘love.’" She narrowed her eyes, looking at both men. "But how were Marty and I married in 2015, with kids, and you didn't think it was odd? If you two - were - are . . . together?"

Emmett gazed approvingly at Jennifer, impressed by the question, yet unsure if he wanted to expound on his hypothesis. But when Marty also peered at him in curious confusion, the scientist reluctantly shared his guess.

"I think it was partially my fault, as I had encouraged Marty to bring you along in the DeLorean to 2015. After you fainted upon seeing your older counterpart, and remained unconscious when we made our return trip, we had to deposit you on your front porch swing." Jennifer nodded, having heard this earlier and following along easily. "I dropped Marty off at home so he could retrieve his truck and come back to wake you, but he was delayed by his family and was unable to access his vehicle. As Marty had not expected that event, he thought we had possibly changed something during our . . . travels. So instead of going to your house, he first came to my place. When he and I interacted, our respective memories of our romantic relationship, which had been erased or disrupted due to our individual travels, began to resettle into our consciousness."

Jennifer and Marty both stared at Emmett as they comprehended the explanation. "Wait a minute, Doc - Are you saying that if I had gotten to Jennifer's right away, she and I would have continued our relationship and then gotten married, and that you and I wouldn't have been together?" Marty queried in disbelief.

Emmett nodded and shrugged at the same time, then spoke quietly. "Or if Jennifer had never come with us to the future, and when we returned to 1985 you and she had taken your trip to the lake, you would have followed that path. I am just surmising, but both theories seem feasible . . . Whichever one occurred, I believe you and I would have mutually agreed to discontinue seeing each other - that is, if we would've even recalled that we'd had a relationship."

Marty let out an uneasy huff, momentarily speechless. Jennifer, on the other hand, had no problem speaking her mind. "It sounds like our marriage was doomed from the start, either because of mistakes with Doc's mach- DeLorean, or because of that stupid accident," she muttered.

“Accident?” Marty echoed, finding his voice. He looked at Doc. “What is she talking about?”

Emmett shook his head. “I don’t believe we have to be concerned with that, either. From what I gleaned on my first trip to 2015, it happened after you and Jennifer returned from the lake. And now that. . . “

“That’s not gonna happen,” Jennifer finished. “My God, Marty. You – how can you – “ She stared at Emmett. “How can _you_?” she hissed.

The waitress showed up at just that moment, asked how everything was, topped off Doc’s coffee, and took Marty’s glass to re-fill it with Diet Coke. When she had put the full glass back in front of the teen and left again, Emmett took a fortifying breath and locked eyes with Jennifer.

Both were surprised when Marty spoke first.

“Jenn, he didn’t do anything. It was me. Well, it was kind of mutual, but I. . . I wanted it. He didn’t –“ Marty fidgeted slightly, “have to force me or anything. It’s _okay_. We’re okay, me and Doc.” Marty smiled at the older man who nodded in return. “And I’m really sorry you’re finding out like this,” Marty continued, looking back at the young woman. “I haven’t been truthful with you, and that’s not right. I know you were hoping this weekend would be special, and now it’s all fucked up.”

“Marty, shh!!” Jennifer whispered, looking around frantically. “Language!”

Unexpectedly, Marty began to laugh, although he did lower his voice. “Damn, Jennifer. I just confirmed that Doc and I are kinda sleeping together, and you’re worried about me swearing?”

"What's 'kinda'?" Jennifer’s face reddened. “ _Oh._ You and Doc do . . . _oral_ \- “ She grasped her glass of orange juice and, bypassing the straw, took a hefty swig. “Shit.”

“Language!” Marty teased. Emmett nudged him softly. “Be nice,” he said.

Jennifer placed her hands on the table, rubbing them against the edge anxiously. “How long?” When neither answered her, she raised her voice. “How _long?”_

Marty made a gesture with his hand that indicated Jennifer should quiet down. “Almost two months. It was the Labor Day party.” When Jennifer looked at him blankly, he continued, “Remember, you got sick and I drove you home? Well, I had to drive Doc, home, too, because his van wouldn’t start. Only I didn’t just drop him off, I stayed, and we. . .” Marty paused. Beside him, Emmett cleared his throat, then reached under the table to rest a warm hand on Marty’s knee. The younger man felt his pulse rise at the touch, a decidedly different quickening than before - especially when Emmett's hand ran tantalizingly up his thigh. “Uh, y-yeah,” Marty stuttered, “that – that was the first time." Emmett squeezed Marty's thigh once before removing his hand, and the younger man felt his face grow warm; he hoped his skin wasn't obviously flushed.

Jennifer shook her head, blinking her eyes. “Labor Day weekend. Right before school started? That makes sense. You were . . . distant. I figured you were busy, with the Pinheads and classes and stuff with your family, but it wasn’t just that. You’ve been busy before, but you still always found time for me. This was different. I wasn’t sure what it was. I thought maybe you were getting tired of me, and that’s why I was really looking forward to this trip to the lake. I thought if we took our relationship to the next level, that it would fix things.” She dropped her head in her hands again. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“No, Jennifer.” Marty reached across the table and grasped one of Jennifer’s wrists, pulling her hand away from her face. He gripped her hand tightly, surprised to find that his eyes were becoming moist. “Jenn, I was an ass. I was kinda two-timing you, or whatever. I didn’t know how to tell you about us,” he tipped his head toward Doc, “and I was afraid that when I did, that you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I don’t want to you lose you as a friend. You don’t realize how much you really mean to me. No one else gets me the way you do.” Marty looked apologetically at Emmett. “Doc, you understand that, right? Jennifer was the first person I cared about romantically, at least publicly, you know? I've known her almost as long as you, she’s supported my music, we hang out with the same kids at school, and she’s just _been_ there. I mean, c’mon, you said it yourself - if you and I hadn’t stayed together or even gotten together, Jenn and I probably would've gotten married and had those two kids and the whole shebang. It’s not anything against you – “

Emmett lifted a hand, chuckling softly. “Marty. Marty, please. I understand completely. I would never ask you to stop having a friendship with Jennifer. Of course, you are assuming that she still wants to be friends with you.”

Both men looked at Jennifer in earnest expectation. The young woman scoffed. “Like I have a choice, with both of you giving me puppy-dog eyes?” She lowered her gaze, took a breath, and then faced Marty. “I am pissed at you, though. What’s weird is I don’t think it’s because we’re ‘breaking up,’ but because you’ve been holding out on me for two months. That you didn’t think we were close enough friends that you could tell me about this.” She waved a hand between Emmett and Marty. “Fine, yeah, it shocked me. I still don’t think I really have a handle on it. But you’re happy, right, Marty?”

Marty turned to Emmett, quirking an eyebrow, and the scientist grinned back. Again they joined hands under the table. “Yeah, Jenn. Doc makes me happy,” Marty confirmed. Temporarily unconcerned with keeping their affections concealed, Marty lifted their linked hands, and kissed Doc’s knuckles. Jennifer watched with widened eyes as Doc, blushing slightly, released Marty’s hand and lightly ran his fingers over Marty’s jawline. The intimate touches were so brief, though, that soon Jennifer was blinking, unsure. And then she saw how Doc and Marty were openly beaming at each other.

“Oh, yeah,“ Marty said softly, still gazing at Doc. “We’re good.”

Jennifer sighed, settling her shoulders with a little shake. Resolved, she smiled warmly at Marty. “Well, then . . . we’re good, too.”

* * *

After dropping Jennifer off at home – again – Emmett and Marty went back to the garage. Einstein met them at the door, and Marty shooed the dog outside. “I’ll keep him company while he does his business, Doc,” he offered, then motioned the older man inside, using basically the same gesture he’d implemented to get Einstein into the small yard.

“I’m not a sheepdog, Marty,” Emmett said, although he was smiling. “Hurry him up if you can. It’s awfully late.”

When Einstein and Marty came back inside, Emmett had already visited the bathroom, undressed, and returned to the bed. Marty was quick to follow, although he took more care undressing this time, depositing his clothes in a semi-folded pile. And when he crawled under the sheets to join Emmett, the two did little more than share a chaste kiss before spooning together in the darkness.

“That went surprisingly well with Jennifer, wouldn’t you say?” Emmett questioned, his breath warm against Marty’s neck.

Marty nodded, exhaling a relieved sigh. “I’m glad we told her everything.”

“Mmm.”

After a moment of silence, Marty said, “What does that mean, Doc?”

“Nothing. I agree with you.”

Marty twisted around so he was facing Emmett. He peered closely at the man’s face, trying his best to see Doc’s eyes in the lack of light. “No, you don’t,” he finally said. “You think I should have told her about my father.”

Emmett’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t immediately respond. “I’m right, aren’t I?” Marty pressed.

“Possibly.”

“Jesus!” Marty sat up abruptly. “How can you think that? I was supposed to tell her I’ve been stringing her along for two months, that I’m in a relationship with you, that we fucking went to the _future_ , and that my dad’s been molesting me for three years? How do you think that would have gone over?”

Emmett sat up as well. “Marty. The only way to take the power away from your father is by letting this secret out. You need to disclose what he’s done, and soon. Otherwise I am afraid that your healing process will be more extensive and painful than it needs to be.”

Marty shook his head. “I’m not keeping it a secret anymore. I told you. I don’t know why you think I have to tell Jennifer!”

Doc took Marty’s hands in his, and looked frankly at the teen. “Fine. Not Jennifer. But you must tell your mother.”

“Doc. . .” Marty shook his head again, his lips trembling. “I can’t, I can’t tell her what – what her husb– “ He choked on his words, fighting back tears. “Doc, it’ll kill her. My dad was right about that. I can’t!”

Emmett squeezed Marty’s hands. “I will come with you, I’ll support you unconditionally.”

Marty hitched in a sob. “I love you for that, Doc, but I still don’t think I can do it. I can’t break my mother’s heart.”

Emmett caressed Marty’s cheek. “You should give your mother more credit. Lorraine is a strong woman, and I believe she would value the mental and physical health of her son over the idea of maintaining a happy marriage.”

“I can’t make this decision right now, Doc,” Marty said firmly. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?”

Emmett studied Marty somberly. “I don’t think you can put it off any longer. You have to let Lorraine know, in the case that you weren’t your father’s only target. I doubt he ever assaulted your brother, as David didn’t recognize what the problem was with you and your father, so it’s probable it never happened to him. But what about your sister?”

“ _Linda?_ ” Marty whispered, dismayed. “Oh, God. No, no, I don’t _think_ so, but – “ He recalled how a barely fifteen-year-old Linda had gotten drunk at their paternal grandparents' anniversary party four years ago. After sneaking too many brandy slushes and wine coolers, Linda had eventually puked in the driveway and then passed out; she'd been put in a spare bedroom in his grandparents' house. Marty had been busy playing the party games and hanging out with his cousins, and hadn't really missed Linda, although he _had_ noticed his sister's blank, glassy-eyed stare when she'd been woken up at the end of the party. Marty squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly terrified that Linda had been his father's first victim, and that he'd been too young and too preoccupied to recognize it. “Damn it!" he hissed at Emmett. "This is why I didn’t want to tell you! I knew It would just make it worse!”

“You have to tell your mother. You know I’m right.”

“Yes,” Marty said, his shoulders sagging. “You usually are.” He sighed, looking away so that he wouldn’t have to see Emmett’s face. “My dad’s gonna be gone tomorrow morning; he’s got a breakfast meeting with his publisher and his agent. I could – _we_ could go talk to my mom then, I suppose.” Marty chanced a glance at Emmett then, unsure. The older man was smiling softly, and even in the near darkness, the teen could see his expression was one of fond pride.

Then Emmett reclined again, pulling Marty down gently with him. “It’s late. We’d better get some rest. It’s going to be a difficult morning.”

Marty settled against Emmett, feeling sheltered in the man’s strong, protective arms. He rested his head against Doc’s chest, suddenly weary. “What if I have another nightmare?” he whispered.

Emmett pulled back slightly, until Marty was peering up at him. Doc lowered his head and kissed the younger man, first on the forehead and then on the lips. The kiss was more reassuring than passionate, although there was light lip-sucking and a brief probing tongue.

“You’re safe here, Marty. You’ll always be safe here.”

And once the two fell asleep, they both slept soundly, with no interruptions, until the alarms of Emmett’s many clocks awoke them at 7:00 a.m.

* * *

Even though they had been together for nearly two months, Marty wasn’t able to stay overnight at Doc’s as much as they both would’ve liked. Maybe one night a week was all the teen was able to finagle, as his mother still thought he was dating Jennifer, and his father didn’t allow Marty out of his sight, or control, more than that. So when the two did spend the full night together they often celebrated the novelty with a leisurely morning in bed – which basically consisted of taking advantage of their morning hard-ons, satisfying each other with practiced hands, searching tongues, and insatiable mouths. The ensuing clean-up was usually reserved for the shower, which was typically another doubles event, unless one or the other had somewhere pressing to be.

This Sunday morning, though, was decidedly different, and Marty awoke with a heavy mind. Jarred by the collection of cuckoos, bells, beeps and jangles, the young man burst upward, breaking free of Emmett’s embrace. He sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily and rubbing at his chest.

There was a murmur from the bed, and then Emmett was behind Marty, gently rubbing his shoulders. He lowered his head to kiss the teen at the base of his neck. “Good morning.”

Marty barely responded; he was still rubbing his chest. “I think I’m having a panic attack or something, Doc. I’m too young to have a heart attack, right?” He inhaled shakily. “My chest hurts, and I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

Doc moved around Marty, getting out of the bed to kneel before the younger man. On a more normal morning, Emmett on his knees in front of Marty would have been for an entirely different reason; today, though, the scientist reached to rest his hands firmly onto Marty’s forearms. “You’re all right, Marty,” he reassured the younger man. “Just take some deep breaths, and let them out slowly.” Doc breathed in and out slowly for example, gesturing that Marty should do the same. “You’re going to be fine.”

After about five minutes of deep, slow breaths, the shakiness eased and the pain in Marty’s chest began to subside. If anything, though, he became more upset. “I can’t do this, Doc. I’m just too worked up. If I couldn’t even handle your clocks this morning, how in the hell can I talk to my mom?” The teen’s hands began twisting the bedsheets.

“You _can_ do this, Marty. And I will be right there. This is the right thing to do.” Emmett rested his hands on Marty’s, stilling them.

Marty smiled back wanly, then tightly clasped the older man’s hands. “You’re the doc, Doc.”

* * *

It was close to nine when Marty and Doc arrived at the McFly residence. Lorraine and Linda were at the table drinking coffee and companionably fighting over the Sunday paper. Lorraine looked up from the Entertainment section to smile at her son as he entered the dining room. “Home so early, Marty?” she said, then her smile wavered as she saw Doc trailing her son. “Emmett? What a surprise.”

Linda drew her gaze away from the comics to briefly glance at her brother. “Yeah, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be 'camping' with Jennifer?” She raised her eyebrows mockingly. “What happened, did she kick you to the curb?”

Marty backed up a step; Emmett gave him a soft push forward. Both women, noticing Marty’s reaction, traded glances. “Geesh, Marty, I didn’t mean it,” Linda apologized. “Really, did something happen? You don’t look great.”

Lorraine was rising. “She’s right – honey, why don’t you sit down?” She pulled out a chair for Marty, then looked at Doc. “Are you staying?”

“Yes!” Marty said quickly, gesturing at the chair beside him. “ _Doc_.”

The two sat at the table. Marty refused coffee but Emmett accepted. There was a brief, awkward silence, and then Marty said, “Dad’s out at that breakfast meeting thing, right? He’s not here? I didn’t see his car.”

“Yes, he probably won’t be back until ten,” Lorraine confirmed.

“Where’s Dave?”

Linda scoffed. “Still in bed. He and some of his work cronies went and tied one on last night.”

Marty nodded, then stared at the table top mutely. He swallowed, trying to get his suddenly lost voice to work. “Are you sure you don’t want any coffee?” Doc asked him softly.

Marty shook his head – he hadn’t eaten or drank anything at Doc’s place either, due to the nauseous feeling that had overtaken him soon after awakening. And as he’d eaten late the night before, hunger was also not an issue.

“Water, then?”

The teen responded with a half-nod, half-shrug. “Sure,” he croaked.

Doc was about to rise when Lorraine waved him back down. “I’ll get it,” she said, a slight tone of possessiveness in her voice. The woman pulled a glass from the cupboard, then retrieved a pitcher of filtered water from the fridge. Pouring the glass for Marty, she set it in front of him and leaned over to give him a loving embrace. “Something’s wrong, I can tell. It’s okay, Marty, talk to me.”

Marty picked up the glass, saw his hand was shaking, and quickly lowered it. Linda coughed quietly, pushing her chair back. “Um, I think I should let you guys alone – “

“No, Lin, wait!” Marty said, his voice cracking. He grasped the water glass in both hands and took a gulp. “Please sit down,” he implored.

Linda looked warily at her brother, then sat back down. “Okay, I’m sitting,” she said.

Marty returned his gaze to the table top. It was easier to look there than at Linda’s face. He didn’t know what her response would be to the question he had to ask . . . and if it was an affirmative response, he didn’t know if he’d be able to handle it.

“Linda, uh. . .” Marty cleared his throat. “I don’t – I, um, it’s about Dad. Has he . . . uh, has he ever hurt you?” The last five words were spoken in a rush, but they were clear.

The room became tensely silent. Marty could hear his heart, as well as feel it slamming into his chest. He lifted one hand to rub at his chest again, and Doc set a steadying hand on his shoulder.

Linda was staring at Marty with wide, bewildered eyes, and Marty felt a surge of relief at her apparent ignorance. “Hurt . . . me? Do you – are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”

Lorraine’s expression was shocked as well. “Why would you ask her something like that, Marty?” she said, mystified. 

Before he realized it, Marty was yelling. “Why? You want to know _why?_ Because he did it to me!”

Several things happened after Marty’s revelation. Linda stood up again, so fast that her chair tipped over. Lorraine pressed both hands to her mouth, holding back a moan. Dave suddenly appeared in the kitchen, asking, “Who's yelling? What's going on?” And Doc held out his handkerchief to Marty, who hadn’t even known he was crying.

He was so _tired_ of crying about this.

Dave bent to help Linda right her chair, and she jerked her head in the direction of the living room. Dave shook his head, instead looking frankly at Doc. “There was something going on with Dad and Marty, wasn't there? I was right.” He then turned to Marty, who was clenching Doc's handkerchief and fighting to control his tears. “Damn, Marty. Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

Marty opened his mouth, not sure of how to reply, or of how much Dave thought he knew. But before he could get a word out, Lorraine was speaking. “This is some kind of a joke?” she asked, her voice quavering. “It’s _not_ funny. How could you say this, how could you sit there and – “ she broke off, again pressing her hands to her face. They were now trembling.

Emmett rounded on the woman. “Look at your son! Does it look like he is making this up? You have no idea how difficult it was for him to come here and tell you this. He was worried about you, damn it, more than he was worried about himself!” Emmett reached for Marty’s hand, taking it firmly. He did not try to disguise the motion, but the only one who seemed to understand what it meant was Linda. “Oh, God,” she murmured, and again looked at her older brother. “Dave, let’s _go_.” Dave waved her off.

Marty was wiping at his eyes with his free hand. “He threatened me,” he said, his eyes shifting between his siblings and his mother. “He said if I told anyone, if I told you,” he focused on Lorraine, “that it would kill you. And that he’d make sure everyone I knew, at school and all, would find out about it. Find out that my dad could turn me on, could get me . . . hard. That there was something _wrong_ with me. That I was a freak. When he’s the one who – He’s the one that . . . started raping me when I was fourteen!”

Lorraine was openly crying now; Linda's eyes were misty and her breath was hitching. Woodenly, as if he wasn’t consciously aware of it, Dave brought a nearby box of tissues over to the table. He was staring at Marty, his expression frozen. “He was. . . Dad did _what?_. . . You were fourteen?” he repeated dully.

Marty nodded. Now that he had begun, the details were getting easier. “Aunt Sally’s wedding. You and the guys got me drunk? Dad took me home, and that – that was the first time. I was barely aware of it, I just know I was sick and scared and I couldn’t fight him. And it hurt.” The teen was unable to suppress a shudder. “The other times. . . I remember them _all_. Everything he did to me, everything he made me do. Sometimes I would just let it happen, because if I was . . . relaxed, it wouldn't hurt." Marty could feel tears pricking again. “I think that was the worst part of it. He said that’s why he kept doing it. He said that meant I . . . liked it.”

Emmett shook his head with a weary sigh. "Marty, that is classic manipulation. A physical response to a stimulation is often just that. Arousal can be achieved without desire." He gripped Marty's hand a little tighter before releasing it. "Especially in your age group."

Lorraine had used several tissues, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. She looked up at Doc's comments, trying to understand how he had become so well-informed on this family issue. “He - Marty – he told you. You've talked about this. How long have you known? Why am I just finding out – “ She turned her miserable gaze onto her son. “Fourteen?” she whispered.

Again feeling the need to reassure Marty with touch, Doc placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. “David and I had our suspicions that there was something wrong, but neither of us had any idea of the seriousness of the situation. Marty confessed everything to me just last night. I immediately informed him that it was necessary he let you know.” The hand on Marty’s shoulder squeezed briefly, a silent message to the teen that no one needed to know what had actually happened immediately after Marty’s confession was an act of ravenous, passionate love-making.

“Last night?” Linda echoed. Swiping quickly at her eyes, she looked oddly at Doc’s hand, which was now resting on Marty’s forearm, massaging it gently. Pulling her gaze away, she addressed her younger brother. “I thought you went to the lake with Jennifer.”

“I. . . uh. . . “ Marty suddenly remembered his truck hadn't left the garage, and while Lorraine might not have been aware of it, if George had noticed the vehicle's presence, there was a good chance Linda had as well. “We never got to the lake,” he admitted. “Jennifer and I had a rough day yesterday, and we – well, we broke up last night.” It was essentially the truth. “Yesterday” was when they had traveled to 2015, which had been a bit of a bumpy trip. And they had broken up, although that event had actually taken place very early this morning.

Dave, standing near Linda’s chair, scoffed. “She broke up with you because of this? That’s really shitty.”

“No!” Marty said quickly. “It wasn’t that, she doesn’t know anything about Dad. Doc is the only one I told, outside of you guys.“

Lorraine was trying to keep up with the pattern of events. “You weren’t at the lake,” she said, waiting for Marty’s answer. When he quietly shook his head, she looked at him in bemusement. “Then why weren’t you at home?” She narrowed her reddened eyes at Emmett. “How did you end up at Doctor Brown’s place?”

Emmett winced slightly at Lorraine’s reference to him as “Doctor Brown.” Lorraine hadn't called him as such since the middle-aged woman had been a teenager. It was always “Emmett” (or even “Doc,” when Lorraine had employed Marty’s nickname for the scientist). For Lorraine to revert back to “Doctor Brown” showed a sudden distrust. He moved his hand from Marty’s arm and instead put both of his hands around his coffee cup.

After a quick sidelong look at Doc, Marty glanced down at the table, to stare at the water ring underneath his glass. “I came home,” he said, “after I left Jenn’s house. I tried to sneak in my window, because I – I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about Jennifer. Only, Dad found me.” He cleared his throat, but his next words were still spoken in a hoarse, haunted voice. “I fought him off. I just couldn’t _do_ it anymore. And I went to Doc’s. And told him.”

Lorraine’s look of mistrust morphed into an expression of gratitude. Reaching across the table, she grasped one of Emmett’s hands tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded back, taking his other hand and placing it on top of Lorraine’s. “I only want what’s best for Marty,” he said softly. “Same as you.”

Lorraine nodded shakily. She heaved a few deep breaths, then released Doc's hands and rose from her chair. She stood for a moment with her hands braced against the table, as if she needed the support. After one more long, quivering breath, she came to stand before Marty’s chair, then fairly collapsed to her knees. An instant later she had her arms wrapped around her son, pulling him forward. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cried, cradling her youngest against her. “Oh, my baby, I’m so sorry!”

Dave, Linda, and Emmett watched as Marty and Lorraine sobbed in each other’s arms.

**_TO BE CONTINUED. . ._ **


	4. The White Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorraine now knows the sordid truth, and directs her children to leave together for their safety. Of course Marty splits from the trio, becoming an accidental target.
> 
> _When Lorraine was finally able to get some semblance of control, she looked up uneasily at the clock in the kitchen. She stood, regarding her children. “You have to leave. All of you. I do not want you here when George gets home.”_
> 
> _Dave and Marty immediately disagreed. “Mom, what are you thinking?” Marty asked, at the same time that Dave said, “No way, Mom, I’m not going anywhere.”_
> 
> _“I want you away from here!” Lorraine said again, her voice shrill. “I will not have you here when I talk to him. Listen to me, godammit!”_
> 
> _Marty stood as well, facing his mother. “Mom, you can’t,” he begged. “It’s not safe.”_
> 
> _Lorraine caressed Marty’s face. “I need you to leave. I will not let him hurt you again.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This _was_ the final chapter. The ending is kind of abrupt, but I like it anyway. And for my 5th chapter, I have a cliff-hanger in mind. Just a warning.
> 
> -ck
> 
> Standard Disclaimer, yada yada yada (see previous chapters). 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Stay well!

**Sunday, October 27th, 1985**

**9:32 A.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

When Lorraine was finally able to get some semblance of control, she looked up uneasily at the clock in the kitchen. She stood, regarding her children. “You have to leave. All of you. I don't want you here when George gets home.”

Dave and Marty immediately disagreed. “Mom, what are you thinking?” Marty asked, at the same time that Dave said, “No way, Mom, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want you away from here!” Lorraine said again, her voice shrill. “I will not have you here when I talk to him. Listen to me, godammit!”

Marty stood as well, facing his mother. “Mom, you can’t,” he begged. “It’s not safe.”

Lorraine caressed Marty’s face. “I need you to leave. I will not let him hurt you again.”

Marty backed away, out of her reach, his eyes wild. “You can’t do this alone!”

“I’ll stay.”

Emmett pushed back his chair, coming to stand behind Marty. He laid calming hands on the teen’s shoulders. “I’ll stay with your mother. She’s right – none of you should be here. Especially not you, Marty.” 

Linda watched the interaction closely, her eyes flitting from Doc to Marty. “Mom?” she said doubtfully. “Are you okay with him staying here?”

Lorraine was smiling grimly at Emmett. “I would appreciate it,” she said. “I just want the kids somewhere safe.”

“I’m not a kid, Mom!” Dave protested, but he’d barely had the words out before Lorraine pointed a shaking finger at him. “I am your mother and you will listen to me! You will take your brother and sister and go somewhere, I don’t care where, a movie, the mall, the bowling alley, I don’t care! Just stay together, and stay away from here.”

“For how long?” Dave mumbled.

“I don’t know. A couple of hours. Call before you come home.” Lorraine came closer to Marty again. “I know I can never fix what happened. But I promise, I will at least make sure you are no longer afraid of your own home.”

“Just be careful.” Marty hugged his mother, then turned and embraced Doc as well, burying his head in his chest. “Take care of her,” he said, his voice partially muffled.

Emmett lowered his chin on top of Marty’s head. “I will. Now go with your siblings.”

ooOoo

They took Dave’s company car, as it was easier than crowding into Marty’s truck. And as soon as they had left the driveway, Marty said, “Drop me off at Doc’s.”

Linda twisted around in her seat to look at Marty, who was sitting in the back. “Why?”

“Because Einstein’s there, and I need to let him out,” Marty said defensively.

“So why do we have to drop you off?” Dave asked, looking in the rearview mirror at his brother. “Mom wanted us to stay together. How about we wait while you let the dog out, and then after we’ll all go to a movie or something.”

“I don’t want to go to a movie. Just drop me off,” Marty repeated.

“I think we need to talk, Marty,” Linda said, “about you and Doc.”

Marty stared moodily out the window. “Just pull over. I’ll walk to Doc’s.”

“Are you nuts?” Dave said. “What if Dad drives by and sees you? Fine, if you're so determined to go to Doc’s, I’ll drop you off.”

“Dave!” Linda hissed. “Didn’t you see? Weren’t you watching them?”

“What?” Dave said, bringing the car to a stop at a red light. “Watching who? What are you talking about?”

Linda turned around to Marty again. “You didn’t break up with Jennifer because you guys had a rough patch,” she accused her brother. “You broke up with her because you’re with Doc.“ She exhaled shortly. "Like, a couple."

The light turned green but Dave didn’t move the car forward; he was also now twisted in his seat to look at his brother. “What the – that’s crazy. She’s crazy, right?”

Marty looked back silently, his jaw set. The lack of an instant response was all that Dave and Linda needed. Linda closed her eyes in a mild wince, and Dave let out a soft wheeze. A sudden blast of a horn jolted Dave back around to the front, and he started driving again just as the light cycled to yellow. As soon as he found a safe spot, Dave pulled over and parked, then turned completely around to stare at Marty.

“Jesus, Dad really fucked you up, didn’t he?” he said.

There was a flash of shocked sadness in Marty’s eyes. Then he said, “Fuck you, Dave!” and flung open the door, exiting the car.

Linda pushed at her older brother. “Go get him!”

Marty was walking fast, but Dave’s legs were longer, and once he put on a burst of speed, he was able to catch up. He grabbed Marty by the arm, pulling him around. “Damn it Marty, let me drive you!”

Marty wrenched out of Dave’s grasp. “Just leave me alone.”

“Give me a damn second!” Dave demanded. “What did you expect? First you tell us this stuff about Dad, and now this? What, you think Linda and I would be all, ‘okay, whatever’ and not be surprised? For Christ’s sake, Doc's like fifty years older than you!”

“Not fifty, jeez,” Marty muttered, not wanting to admit how close Dave was. Then he blinked, and cocked his head. “That’s what you’re hung up on? His age?”

“Well, yeah!”

“So the fact that I might be gay, or at least bi, that’s doesn’t bug you? You just think I picked Doc because of Dad, that him molesting me screwed me up, made me think I was only good for old guys?”

Dave spread his hands out. “Kinda,” he said weakly.

Marty grinned. This he could handle. “Dave, no. It’s nothing like Dad. Doc doesn’t force me to do anything, or manipulate me, or hurt me. He’s kind, and sensitive, and he cares about me. And it’s mutual. Hell, I think I was attracted to Doc the whole time I was with Jennifer, I just held back at first because. . . Well, because I cared about Jenn, too.“ He shrugged, his smile now wistful.

Dave looked like he was still hesitant to deliver any type of blessing. “You’re sure it’s got nothing to do with what Dad did to you? That you really want to be with someone as old as Doc?”

“I’m sure,” Marty said, resolute. “And Doc might be older, like chronologically-speaking, but he doesn’t act like it, you know? Mentally or physically. He really seems a lot younger.”

Dave made a motion of plugging his ears. “Marty, stop, I don’t want to hear that!”

“No, I didn’t mean. . .” Marty felt the laughter bubbling up inside of him, threatening to burst out. Unable to stop it, he began laughing uncontrollably, bending to place his hands on his knees. “Shit, Dave,” he said in between gasps. “I just meant overall! I wasn’t talking about – “ He broke off, dissolving into hysterics. This felt _so_ much better than crying.

Dave first looked perplexed at Marty’s reaction, but then his face cleared, and he began to laugh as well.

The two were still chuckling when they made it back to the car. Linda glared at them like they were deranged, and that just sent the brothers into more giggles.

* * *

After Linda and Dave had dropped Marty off at Doc’s, and after he’d let Einstein out and played with him sufficiently (tiring out dog _and_ boy), Marty had kicked off his shoes and curled up on the couch. He'd been exhausted by the events of the last day or so (actually, considering the time he’d spent in 1955, the last week or so), and had soon dropped off to sleep. When the side door was unlocked and opened an hour later, he was sleeping heavily enough that he never heard it. And when the older man stepped into the living area to stand before the couch, absentmindedly patting Einstein on the head, Marty slept on – until George McFly reached down, grabbed him by his shoulders, and violently threw him off the couch.

Marty awoke to a jarring pain in his back, and to the frenzied barking of Einstein. Before the teen could even sort out what was happening, rough hands were on him again, twisting his body over so he was face down. An extreme pressure joined the pain, a localized weight in the center of his back. He found it difficult to breathe. His head was pressed hard into the carpet; he could instantly feel the rug burn against his cheek. _I helped Doc pick out this area rug_ , he thought distantly, remembering the shopping trip, the rearranging of the furniture, the time he’d stained the rug by spilling hot chocolate on it. Doc had shrugged and shoved the couch over a foot to cover up the spot.

A face came into view. Marty could barely see it in his peripheral vision; also, the spots before his eyes didn’t help. But there was no mistaking it was his father. The man leaned over him, his breath a hot exhalation against Marty’s ear. “You damn tattletale,” he hissed. “You had to destroy our family.”

“Wasn’t . . . me,” Marty forced out, his voice no more than a whisper. It was all he could manage with his father’s knee in his back. “Was . . . you.”

George pressed his knee in harder, putting all of his body weight into it. The teen gasped and choked as his chest was constricted further. “You want to say that again?” George asked. Even though his father was still speaking into Marty's ear, there was a whooshing sound that almost overwhelmed the words. Some part of Marty's fading awareness grasped that the whooshing noise was in his head, and he realized dazedly that he was losing consciousness.

Einstein’s barking had changed from frenzied to aggressive. George released his hold on Marty, standing to face the dog. “Shut up, you stupid mutt,” he growled.

Marty sucked in precious air, blinking away the fog. Struggling to his knees, he started to crawl away. His hope was that while George was otherwise occupied, he'd be able to get back to the couch and use it pull himself into a standing position. He had almost made it when he heard a ‘thud’ and a high-pitched yelp from Einstein. Marty turned just in time to see George bring his leg back again to send another kick into Einstein’s belly. “NO!” Marty shrieked.

George turned around, and Marty was stunned at the completely unrecognizable fury on the man’s face. _This is not my father,_ he thought, terrified. _This can’t be my father._

Einstein had withdrawn to hide under the kitchen table, whimpering miserably. The sound made Marty's stomach turn. "You asshole," he spat out at George.

“You shouldn’t be worried about that mutt,” George said coldly. “You should be worried about yourself, you spoiled brat snitch.” He advanced on the injured teen.

Marty tried to scramble away, still in too much pain to rise. He cursed himself for not locking the outside fence, instead leaving it open for Doc. He figured his dad had used the spare key to get in the garage. Marty had his own key for the garage now, but a spare key still resided under the door mat as the teen had the bad habit of forgetting or losing his key. And Marty knew George had seen the key's hiding place; his parents had accompanied him to Doc’s a few times when Marty had been younger, until they were sure he was capable of dog-sitting unaccompanied during Doc’s random absences.

George quickly overtook his fleeing son. Pulling Marty up by his shirt, he again used a rage-fueled strength to throw the boy forward several feet. Marty’s head struck the edge of nearby work table, and he collapsed limply to the floor, edges of darkness creeping into his vision. He’d landed on his side, his left arm bent awkwardly under him, but he was unable to move to adjust the odd position. His eyes flicked back to George, who was now approaching slowly, almost cat-like. As George knelt at his son's side, he yanked the bent arm free with a vicious twist, eliciting a cry of pain from the teen. Marty saw a predatory smile cross his father’s face, and he knew then that George was not only planning to rape him, but that he was planning to _wreck_ him.

Marty felt his father reach to unbutton and unzip his jeans. The man then flipped Marty onto his stomach, yanking his pants and underwear down in frantic, clumsy movements. Marty was aware of the cool air on his rear and thighs, making the bare skin prickle. He heard his father’s quick, heaving breaths. He heard the noise of his father unbuckling his belt, the belt jingling against the floor as George dropped his slacks. He felt the heat coming off of George’s body as the man knelt over him. George ran slow, covetous hands over his son's torso, rucking up his shirt, and then slid his hands down to Marty's waist. The caresses, while repulsive, were also strangely exciting. Marty felt himself become partially hard. George noticed, and snickered at the teen's arousal.

It seemed that was the only part of his person that Marty could move. He lay helpless underneath his father, unable to fight, wishing that the hit on his head would have knocked him out, instead of just incapacitating him. He could hear everything, _feel_ everything, yet in his stunned condition he was powerless. George placed his hands on Marty’s hips, jerking him up onto his knees, but the teen slumped down, not able to fully support himself. Laughing harshly, George made a quick adjustment; instead of kneeling behind Marty, he climbed up to straddle the teen in a jockey position. George leaned forward to whisper in Marty's ear. “Just like our first time,” he breathed, still panting. Then, mockingly, "Remember?"

Not even able to scream for help, Marty could only whimper, much like Einstein had moments before. He squeezed his eyes shut, surrendered to the inevitable, and prayed that it wouldn't be too painful. Recognizing George's current manic behavior, Marty knew he was in for an extensive trial. He hoped he wouldn't bleed too much. The last time George had been in this state, Marty had had to throw away an almost brand new pair of Calvin Kleins.

Then the weight on his back disappeared. There was a crashing, thumping sound, a few grunts, and then maybe the most wonderful noise Marty had ever heard in his life. Doc was yelling, a powerful deep scream, at a volume Marty had never heard him achieve before.

_**“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!”** _

Next there were gentle hands touching him, putting his pants and underwear in generally the correct position. He was lifted and carried, to be placed carefully on the bed. Then Doc was leaning over him, stroking his face and his hair, speaking repeated words of reassurance.

Marty closed his eyes, relishing the soft touches and softer voice. He floated, feeling untethered. Suddenly Doc’s tone became more urgent. “Marty. Marty, open your eyes. Marty!”

Marty dragged his eyes open. “Is Einie okay?” he asked in a faint voice.

Emmett brushed a trembling hand through Marty's bangs, looking worriedly at the battered, pale face. “Einstein is fine. Where did he hurt you, Marty?”

“He kicked him, Doc.”

Doc turned his head and whistled softly. Einstein, who had still been cowering under the table (only now more so because of his oldest master’s thunderous yell), hesitantly crawled into the open. Once he had braved that step, he had enough confidence to trot over to the bed, and soon he had his paws up on the mattress and was nosing at Marty. The teen reached out slowly to ruffle the dog’s fur. “Good boy,” he murmured.

Emmett was growing more alarmed by Marty’s sluggish reactions, unsure if they were related to shock or injuries. Gesturing that Einstein should get down, the scientist shook Marty’s shoulder. “Marty, look at me. Let me see your eyes.”

Marty finally looked directly at the scientist. “Where were you?” he rasped.

Seeing that Marty’s pupils were normal and even, Emmett next grasped the teen’s wrist and felt for his pulse. “I didn’t know you were here,” he said, mentally counting the beats, which were fast but not worrisome. “Not until David and Linda called, and said that they had dropped you off here.“

“How did my dad find me?”

“I don’t think he was exactly looking for you. I think he was coming here to destroy whatever he could before I came home, to 'leave a message,' as it were. Or maybe he meant to wait for me to return, but when he found you. . ." Emmett shook his head sadly. "The talk with your mother was very intense. She essentially told your father he was not allowed back in the house, not until lawyers were involved." He frowned in mild disappointment. "Although if George had been searching for you, I think he would have shown up here eventually - I wish you would've stayed with your siblings." Doc sighed. "I would've been here sooner, but after George left your house, I waited for your Uncle Milton to relieve me, so your mother wouldn’t be alone.”

Marty nodded. "‘kay. Is my mom all right?”

“As well as can be expected. She handled herself superbly. I was barely involved in the conversation; I think I was primarily moral support. Although George took extreme umbrage at my presence. Now Marty, _please_ , what did that man do to you? Where are you injured?”

The teen struggled into a sitting position; Emmett cautiously aided him. “The bastard was freakishly strong. He dug his knee in my back, hard, and he threw me around like a rag doll. I landed bad on my arm, and I hit my head.” Marty lifted a shaking hand to the throbbing spot above his right ear. “It really aches.”

Emmett followed Marty’s hand with his own, and lightly palpated the spot. “You’ve got quite a knot there,” he said. “Is your vision blurry, or do you feel nauseous?“

“Not really, I just feel kind of weird.” Marty shrugged, then grimaced. “Damn, that hurts.”

“Weird, how?” Doc asked, slowly lifting Marty’s shirt to look at his back.

“My dad,” Marty continued, as Doc ran nimble fingers over the fresh bruises on Marty’s back, “he was crazed. I didn’t recognize him. I was really afraid of him, more than I’ve ever been. And I –“ he heaved a breath, " - I couldn't stop him. I thought he was going to kill me.” He swallowed, looking desperately at Doc. “He didn't, did he? This is real? You’re here, you saved me?”

Emmett lowered Marty’s shirt, then set his hands on the teen’s shoulders. “It’s very real,” he promised, and leaned in to kiss Marty tenderly. “You’re with me and Einie, and George is not coming back.” Emmett placed another light kiss on the rug burned spot on Marty’s cheek, and a very soft peck near the bump on his head. “Now, lie back down. I’m going to call your mother, and tell her what happened.”

Marty abruptly grabbed Emmett’s hand. “No, Doc, please. She’ll freak out. She’ll come over here and fuss over me. I don’t need that. I have you.” He grinned crookedly.

Emmett gazed apologetically at the teen. “I have to let her know that your father found you here, and what his intentions were." When Marty looked fearful, Doc gave him another quick kiss. "Don't worry, I won’t share any details, other than to tell her that he was unsuccessful.”

As the older man stepped away to the phone, Marty wondered on that last statement. How was Doc sure his father hadn't been successful? The man had been on top of him; Marty could still vaguely "feel" George's hardness pressing against his rear end. What if his father had violated him _(again)_ , and he was blocking it out? He still ached all over, maybe he just hadn't begun to isolate that specific sensation amongst everything else that hurt. Then it hit him: Doc had re-dressed him. He would've recognized any evidence of penetration. Not to mention Emmett had lifted George off of Marty, and considering his father had probably had an unfulfilled erection, Doc would have likely noticed that, as well.

Feeling a sense of relief, Marty closed his eyes, sleepily listening to the resultant phone call. He heard Emmett's voice, low and calm, sharing a less graphic version of the assault and near-rape. Lorraine's responses were upset, high-pitched cries that carried from the receiver. _"What did he do? That son of a bitch! I'm coming over!"_ Emmett firmly advised the woman to stay put, assuring her that he would bring Marty home as soon as the teen was sufficiently recovered. Marty fell into a doze before Emmett hung up the phone, and reacted little when the older man returned to his side with a tube of antibiotic gel and an ice pack. Emmett rubbed a small amount of the gel onto Marty’s facial scrapes, and then he placed the ice pack on the bump, cuddling on the bed close to the teen so he could hold the ice pack in place. Marty groaned lightly in his sleep, and Emmett shushed him.

Emmett himself had almost drifted off when Marty awoke, shifting slightly so he could face the scientist. “Doc?”

“What is it, Marty?”

Marty was staring devotedly at Emmett. The color had returned to the teen's face, and his hand, reaching out to touch Doc's cheek, was steady. “Can't I stay here with you? I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.” Marty's incredibly blue eyes bore into the older man’s soul. “I just want to stay with you.”

Emmett’s returned smile was somewhat strained. “I would like the same, Marty, but it’s not realistic. I do think you should take some time off of school to recuperate, and maybe even until you know what is happening legally with your father. But you will need to go home. Your family doesn’t know about our relationship, and – “

“Linda and Dave know. Linda figured it out.”

Doc was speechless for a moment. “Your parents – “

“My mom doesn't know about us, I'm positive. My dad would make comments, but he might have just done it to get a rise out of me. I'm not sure he really knew. . . Did he act like it?" Marty asked nervously.

Recalling how Marty had said his father had alluded to their relationship as recently as last night, Emmett frowned thoughtfully. "He didn't say anything obvious to me, but he was preoccupied by the discussion with your mother." Shelving the concern, Emmett instead moved on to what he considered a more pressing matter. "Speaking of your mother - would David or Linda possibly tell her?"

"I'll make sure they don't," Marty vowed. "Considering the fact that I’m underage . . . If my mom knew we were a couple, she’d lose it, especially after all the shit with my dad. Dave kinda did."

"How do mean? What did your brother do?" Emmett asked uneasily.

Marty gave a cautious shrug. "He was worried that what my dad had done had warped me or something, and that was why I was with you. I set him straight, but I don't know if my mom would understand things. If she did find out, I wouldn’t be able to see you again until June – if ever.”

“Well, then, you mustn't stay here longer than necessary, unless your mother believes it is safer here than at your home. But based on her reactions during the phone call, that is not her desire. She wants you at home, where she can ‘fuss’ over you.”

“Right.” Marty reached up and patted the ice pack on his head, still held by Doc’s hand. “Like this?”

Doc snorted lightly. He withdrew the partially-melted ice pack, setting it aside. Marty edged up on one elbow, still gazing rapturously at the older man.

“Fine. I’ll go home. Later. But right now, all I want is to be with you.”

Doc’s smile became more natural. He bent his head and kissed the teen’s neck, trailing his mouth up to Marty’s ear. Marty moaned and reached out, taking the man’s face in his hands and then twisting his own head, so that he could press his lips to Emmett’s. When the scientist’s hands wound around Marty’s back, though, the younger man winced, inhaling sharply. Emmett stopped, drawing back quickly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be doing this. How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” Marty asked, impatient. “I’m feeling like I want you Doc, like I _need_ you, and I don’t care if it hurts.”

“I do.” Emmett sighed. “I can’t in good conscience do anything that would exacerbate you injuries, nor can I ask you to do something that would be painful.”

Marty grinned. “Well, I might not feel up to returning the favor, at least not right now, but I think I know one thing you can do that won’t hurt me.” He took one of Doc’s hands and directed it to the still unzipped crotch of his jeans. “Nothing hurts here, Doc. I mean, nothing more than expected.”

Emmett adjusted himself, rising on his knees to view the teen’s lower extremities. He parted Marty's jeans so they were open completely, and saw the hard-on pushing at the cotton of Marty’s pastel blue briefs.

“Are you sure?”

“Can’t you tell?”

The older man smiled widely. He carefully pulled down Marty’s jeans and underwear, doing it slowly so that Marty didn’t need to raise his hips as high and possibly strain his back. And once the younger man’s erection was free, Emmett looked up one last time at his best friend/lover.

“Are you completely sure this won’t cause you more pain? I don’t want you to re-injure your back – “ 

Marty interrupted the scientist, his words spoken with affectionate frustration. “Damn, Doc, can’t you use your mouth for something better than talking?”

As it turned out, Emmett could.

**_TO BE CONTINUED. . ._ **


	5. From Bad to Really Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Marty breaks down during sex, Doc decides their relationship should temporarily cease, as he feels Marty is too emotionally afflicted from his father's assaults. Marty is crushed by this decision, and the weight of his despair overcomes him.
> 
> _Emmett looked at his hands as they ran over the material of his trousers. “It’s not . . . This isn’t healthy.” With a heavy sigh, Doc faced the younger man. “This – us – isn’t good for you right now. It’s too confusing for you. Everything we do has the possibility of triggering your fear and your anger toward your father.”_
> 
> _“But – but – we’ve been together since Labor Day! Why all of a sudden is this ‘not good’ for me?” Marty demanded. “Yeah, sure, my Dad was making my life shitty and I didn’t really know what I was doing in my relationship with Jennifer, but when you and I got together – well, then things finally started to make sense! You’re the only thing that keeps me sane!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reader commented that I should continue this, and I had thought the same (when I had previously ended it after four chapters), but I had to come up with an idea and find the time to write it. This is when my story (as my stories are wont to do) decided to change course, and for Marty, it's a bad change in direction. 
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies (see earlier chapters).
> 
> -ck

**Sunday, October 27th, 1985**

**1:04 P.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

There had been times, in Emmett and Marty’s short (two-month) physical relationship, when one or the other had been brought to tears by an intense orgasm. Being the younger, more intense, and more emotional of the two, it was typically Marty who "lost his shit," as the teen often put it. So when Doc heard the thick, hitching breathing from his partner, the scientist inferred that his mouth and his touch was bringing Marty close to a tear-inducing climax. But when audible sobs tore from Marty’s throat, Emmett pulled off and propped himself up on his elbows, regarding the young man from his position in between Marty’s legs. What he saw was unusual and distressing – Marty was staring up at the ceiling, tears running from his eyes and sliding off the sides of his face into his ears.

“Marty?”

There was no response other than another choked sob. Doc climbed up onto the bed proper, so that he was alongside the teen. “Marty? What is it?” He reached out to run his fingers through Marty’s thick hair, brushing a few tears away at the same time. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, upset with himself for letting his – and Marty’s – arousal get the best of him, so soon after Marty had been assaulted by his father.

Marty shook his head, tipping more tears along the sides of his face. “No, Doc, not you – “ He suddenly curled in on himself, and grasping a pillow, brought it to his chest. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t – “ He buried his face in the pillow.

Feeling that further sexual relations would be inadvisable, Emmett tamped down his desire, ran a sleeve over his still slick mouth, and then pulled gently at the pillow. “Marty. It’s all right. You don’t need to know. Calm down.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” Marty said, his voice muffled by the pillow. He pulled his head up, staring at Emmett out of red-rimmed eyes. “I know I said I wanted you, and I _did_ , at least I think I did, but then when you – when you – “ He struggled through his sobs. “All I could picture, all I could _feel_ , was my Dad, how he would take me into his study and force me to undress and sit in his chair, and then he would kneel in front of me and touch me and – and s-stroke me until I got hard, so he could – “ Marty suddenly threw the pillow aside and bolted upright. “I’m gonna puke,” he gasped, and attempted to leave the bed. Unfortunately, his pants and underwear were still lowered from Emmett’s earlier ministrations. So instead of Marty successfully climbing out of the bed, he fairly _fell_ out – and then vomited onto the floor.

He wasn’t quite sure when Emmett and Einstein arrived at his side, but he gradually became aware of the older man supporting him as he heaved, while the sheepdog whined anxiously nearby. Doc rubbed Marty’s back and spoke soft, reassuring words, and eventually the heaves reduced to shuddering coughs. When Marty was done being sick, he rested back against Doc, utterly exhausted. “Oh, shit,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Doc – “

“Shh, Marty, it’s all right – “

“No, it’s not, I made a mess – “ Marty tried to pull away. “I’ll get some rags or something – “

“No, you relax. You’re not well. I’ll take care of it.”

Marty turned so that he faced Emmett. “Well, I’m not relaxing here. This stinks, and if I sit here, I’m gonna puke again just from smelling it.”

Doc surprised himself by laughing. “Good point. Here, let’s get you fixed up.” He rose, then drawing Marty up part-way, he untangled the lowered briefs and jeans that were partially tangled around the young man’s ankles. Once that was accomplished, Marty was able to stand fully, and he pulled up his underwear and pants, quickly zipping and buttoning the fly on his jeans. His erection had dissipated when he’d become sick, so there was little need to hesitate.

After Emmett had relocated Marty to the couch and had directed Einstein to his dog bed, the scientist collected some rags and a small basin of soapy water, then made short work of cleaning up the sick mess next to the bed. Bundling the soiled rags in a plastic grocery bag, Emmett knotted the top of the bag and then took it to the door. “I’ll just toss these in a trash can. I’ll be right back.”

When Doc came back into the garage, he emptied and rinsed the basin, washed his hands, and then brought Marty a glass of water. Doc sat on the couch next to the young man, watching as Marty sipped at the water and swished it around in his mouth. “How are you feeling now?” Emmett asked.

“Embarrassed.”

Doc chuckled softly, then sobered. “I need to take you home.”

Marty set the water glass on the floor, near the shoes he’d kicked off earlier. “I know.”

Emmett nodded slowly, then rubbed his hands over his knees. “And . . . and I don’t think you should come back here for a while.”

Marty turned his head jerkily to regard Doc. “Wh-what? What are you talking about?”

Emmett looked at his hands as they ran over the material of his trousers. “It’s not. . . This isn’t healthy.” With a heavy sigh, Doc faced the younger man. “This – us – isn’t good for you right now. It’s too confusing for you. Everything we do has the possibility of triggering your fear and your anger toward your father.”

“But – but – we’ve been together since Labor Day! Why all of a sudden is this ‘not good’ for me?” Marty demanded. “Yeah, sure, my Dad was making my life shitty and I didn’t really know what I was doing in my relationship with Jennifer, but when you and I got together – well, then things finally started to make sense! You’re the only thing that keeps me sane!”

Doc shook his head, sighing again. “Marty, I didn’t know what was going on with your father. I didn’t know exactly what the problem was, until you told me last night. And what we did, after you told me, what we were just doing now – that was completely inappropriate. You’re vulnerable right now, and both times you had recently been aroused by your father, and I was taking advantage – “

“I was not aroused by him! He disgusts me! He just fucking tried to rape me!”

“I know that, but as I said earlier, as you had just mentioned yourself minutes ago, George’s interactions with you did arouse you – not in an emotional way, but solely as a physical reaction. And with your age, your teenage hormones, you were left with that unfulfilled sense, that _want_. And I was only too happy to oblige you.” Emmett looked away, his mouth set grimly. “I’m ashamed of myself.”

“What are you trying to say? That I don’t feel anything for you? That my attraction to you was some remnants of being horny after what my dad made me do?” Marty’s voice was rising. “Or that you were some replacement, some ‘fix,’ to make me feel more in control?”

Doc waved a hand. “Not necessarily. I know I care for you deeply, and I don’t doubt you feel the same – “

“Care for you?” Marty reached frantically for Emmett. “Doc, I love you!”

Emmett gently blocked Marty’s embrace. “And I you. It’s because of that that I must do this. I'm afraid if we continue as we have, it could be harmful to you, and that would break my heart."

Marty held out his hands. "If you're worried about harming me, _don't_ make me stay away!"

Doc rejected the plea, smiling sadly. "You should be at home, with your mother and siblings," he said. "You need your family right now - you don’t belong here with me. I cannot continue to take advantage of you in your current state . . . even as much as I have been attracted to you.”

“ _Have_ been? Past tense?”

Emmett took Marty’s hands, gripping them firmly. “Have been, and continue to be,” he said.

Marty wrenched his hands away. “Then why are you doing this?” he cried, expressing what he just couldn't grasp. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his stomach, breathing hard.

“Are you going to be ill again?” Doc asked, rising with the intention of retrieving the basin. Marty reached out, grabbing the man by his arm and pulling him back down. “Stop! Answer me, Emmett!”

Doc was thrown by Marty’s infrequent use of his given name. “Answer you what?“ 

“Why are you _doing_ this to me?” Marty repeated. “Why are you hurting me like this?”

“That’s not my intention. I'm enforcing this - break - so I can _stop_ hurting you.”

“You weren’t the one hurting me, Doc! That was my dad! And that’s done now, he’s out of the picture, he’s not going to be here or at my house – “

“That’s not necessarily true. Your father will not have direct interaction with you anymore, but he will still need to be at the house to move his things out, and he and your mother will be meeting to discuss their likely divorce. He’s still going to be in your life.”

Marty stared silently at Emmett. He blinked a few times, then let out a hard exhale. “That – No. I can’t handle that.” He looked around the garage, grimacing faintly, and then turned back to Doc with a hopeful expression. “Can I get a restraining order or something like that? So he can’t come to the house if I’m there?”

Emmett nodded. “In fact, your mother brought that up when speaking with your father. He was not immediately amenable to it, as it would be on his record and could become public knowledge – “

“Wait, wouldn’t it be confidential or whatever?” When Doc shrugged and shook his head, Marty’s face paled. “I don’t want anyone to know what happened. Even if they don’t know, they might guess, once they know I’ve got a restraining order against my dad.” The teen slumped down on the couch, bringing his hands up to cover his face. “I wish you’d never invented that goddamn time machine,” he said darkly. “When I screwed up my parents’ meeting in ‘55 and tried to fix it, I just made everything so much worse. This is hell.”

“That’s why I have to dismantle it,” Emmett said sorrowfully. “Time travel is just too inexact a science, and for you it’s become incredibly painful.” He reached out and ran his hand along Marty’s thigh, squeezing it lightly.

Doc’s hand was on Marty’s leg for barely five seconds before the teen jerked away, and moved to the far end of the couch. “You can’t have it both ways, Doc. You said I can’t come around here – so you’re not allowed to feel me up.”

Doc drew his hand back, placing both hands on his lap. “You’re exactly right, Marty. And this is precisely why you need to stay away.” He rose abruptly. “Get your shoes on, please. I’ll call your mother and let her know we’re on our way over.”

ooOoo

After bidding a sad farewell to Einstein, Marty followed Emmett out of the lab/house/garage, to trudge miserably over to the bullet-ridden step-van sitting in the Burger King overflow parking lot. He lifted himself up into the passenger seat, wincing slightly at the pain in his back.

Emmett had just put the key in the ignition when Marty asked, “What happened to the other Marty?”

The older man turned, regarding Marty with a furrowed brow. “’Other’ Marty?”

“Yeah. The one I saw go back in time, when I was watching from the hill above the mall. It was like a surreal type of rerun.” Marty looked out the window at the fast food restaurant. “He’s the one from this timeline. The one who originally had the relationship with you, the one whose father was sexually assaulting him. The one whose crappy memories I have now.” He peeked at Doc, but then quickly turned away. “That Marty.”

“Well, um, I, uh. . .” Doc stuttered. “As I said before, time travel is an inexact science. It could be that there’s a second Marty who exists in a parallel or alternate timeline, or it’s possible that there is really little difference between ‘you’ and ‘him.’ That at the moment of his disappearance, you took over his persona.”

Emmett started driving in an attempt to end the conversation, but Marty persisted. “But if there _was_ a second Marty, the one that came from this timeline, where did he go? Did he do the same thing I did? Crash into Peabody’s barn, run over a pine tree, hide the DeLorean by the billboard, and then walk into town?”

Doc shook his head. “I don’t know, Marty. It’s feasible that it all happened the same way as what you experienced. Or there could’ve been a random occurrence that would have thrown everything out of whack. Possibly you – the other Marty – would have twisted his ankle walking into town, and arrived later in the morning than you had arrived.”

“And if that had happened, maybe I – he – wouldn’t have run into my dad at Lou’s Café. So then my dad would’ve gotten hit by my grandpa’s car like he was supposed to, because the other Marty wouldn’t have chased after him after he left the café, and then knocked him out of the way of the car.” Marty studied the traffic, still not looking at Doc. “Then my parents would have ended up like I remembered them before. Dad a pushover weakling and Mom a lush.”

Emmett stopped at a stop sign, and glanced over at the teen. “That’s one theory.”

“Yeah,” Marty said. “Another theory is that maybe the Marty from this timeline did everything the same as me, interrupting his parents’ first meeting – and then didn’t do anything to fix it. Didn’t do anything to get them together.”

Doc slowed the van, turning it into Lyon Estates. He looked again at Marty. “But he’d be jeopardizing his existence if he did that.”

“Yeah.” Marty sighed, “maybe he’d think that was better. Better to be erased from existence than to return to this hellish timeline.” He turned toward the door, preparing to open it. “If I had a way out of this, I know I’d take it,” he mumbled.

Before Emmett could respond or even completely stop the van, Marty had jerked his door open and was loping down the walk to the front door of his house, where Lorraine McFly stood waiting.

Predictably, Lorraine fussed and fretted and moaned about Marty’s facial scrapes and pale countenance, and nearly came to tears when she found the lump above his right ear. “That bastard should be arrested for what he did to you!” she said vehemently.

Marty pulled out of Lorraine’s worried embrace. “Mom, no - I'm all right. Doc will tell you.” He gestured at the older man standing behind him in the entryway. "I just want to lie down."

Emmett frowned at the teen. “Marty, I think your mother makes a good point. The three of us should talk – “

“Not now.” Marty leaned in to kiss his mother on the cheek. “I'll be okay, Ma. Don’t worry.”

Lorraine caught Marty’s arm. “Did you eat lunch yet? Dave and Linda ate out, but I can make you some – “

 _“No,_ Mom.” Marty wrestled away. “I’m _tired."_

“Of course.” Lorraine brushed her hand through his hair. “You go rest.”

Marty had just escaped his mother's clutches when, on way down the hall to his bedroom, he was waylaid by Dave. The older brother placed a staying hand on Marty's shoulder. "Mom told us what happened with Dad." He peered into Marty's face, wincing in sympathy. "Are you okay, buddy?" 

Marty involuntarily winced himself; while Dave had used the nickname innocently, "buddy," was what George had called the boys in their youth, before things had gone to hell. 

"I'm fine. Doc stopped him before he could really hurt me." Marty jerked his head back at the living room, where Emmett and Lorraine were now seated on the sofa. "But if you need to hear all of the disgusting details, go ask Doc.”

Dave held up his hands, backing away. “Hey, calm down, okay? I was just worried about you, Christ!”

“Well, you can stop now. Dad isn’t gonna come near me after what Doc did to him. I’m _fine_ ,” Marty repeated, forcing a reassuring tone to his voice, although it sounded hollow and false to his own ears.

Whether or not Dave picked up on the lie, he was uncomfortable enough by Marty's mood to avoid prolonging the encounter. “Ah, good,” he said, awkwardly patting Marty on the shoulder. “I’m glad.”

“As long as you’re glad,” Marty muttered. Hoping to avoid an ambush by Linda as well, Marty couldn’t get to his room fast enough.

*******

When Emmett's suggestion of a talk with him and Lorraine was summarily refused by Marty, the scientist became visibly concerned, enough so that Lorraine drew him over to the living room sofa. "What is it, Emmett?" she asked nervously. 

Doc didn't answer; he moved a few of the throw pillows onto the floor before sitting. "Milton left?" he asked, trying to recall if the car he'd glimpsed in the driveway was Dave's company car or Milton's sedan.

"Yes, when Dave and Linda came home. Now that I've laid down the rules with George, I'm not as concerned for the kids - well, for the older two. And David is old enough that I feel secure with him home."

"What about when David's at work?" Emmett asked uneasily. "And further, what about when you're at work and Linda's at HVCC or work, and Marty ends up home by himself?"

"I'm planning on taking a leave of absence," Lorraine glanced back at the hallway, where she could hear Marty and Dave talking. "I'm only part-time at the travel agency; I don't think it should be that hard to take time off." She flinched as she heard Marty’s door slam shut. "I won't leave Marty home alone, not after what happened today."

Emmett felt guilty and defensive at the same time. “I had no idea Marty was alone at my place – “

Lorraine reached forward, setting a hand on Emmett’s arm. “I know that, I didn’t mean to sound like I was accusing you. It’s just the fact that after I spoke with George earlier, he was so livid – you saw that. And then from what you said, George took all of that anger out on Marty – “ She released Emmett’s arm, and pressed both of her hands to her face. “I can’t imagine how terrified he must have been,” she moaned.

Doc nodded somberly. “As well as distraught and resentful. After Marty had recovered somewhat from George’s attack, I told him he shouldn’t visit me for a while, that his place was here, with you and his siblings.” When Lorraine looked gratefully at Doc, he waved her off. “Don’t treat this as some grand gesture on my part – my desire for Marty to stay away is partially because I _do_ feel responsible for what had happened at my place before I arrived.” He sighed despondently. “Marty definitely didn’t agree with my request. He was, and still is, upset and angry with me.” Emmett straightened a bit as Dave wandered into the room from the kitchen. “Hello, David.”

“Hi, Doc Brown.” Dave flopped into a chair near the sofa. “You’re right, Marty seems pretty pissed. But he’s probably more mad at my dad than at you. You’re just an easy target.”

Doc sighed. “Marty sees my direction as a betrayal from another adult who he’s trusted – “

“– and more,” Dave said under his breath.

“What did you say?” Lorraine asked her son, as Emmett blanched.

*******

Once Marty had slammed his door and was securely in his room, he'd barely toed off his sneakers and made it to his bed before his legs gave out. Dropping onto his mattress, he curled up with his arms around his head, and pulled hard at his hair. His head was swimming, there was a piercing ache in his gut, and the hands that grasped his hair were shaking. He could taste bile in his throat and he quickly shoved a fist against his mouth, not wanting to vomit again.

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Doc that his life was hell. He’d had to endure his father’s sexual assaults for three years, and now that he’d finally admitted it, now that he’d finally said something, it had ruined any other normal facet of his life. He’d broken up with Jennifer. Doc wanted to “take a break,” supposedly for Marty’s own mental health and well being. It seemed Lorraine and George would be getting a divorce, so he was responsible for taking a husband away from his mother, and a father away from his siblings. His family might be worried or afraid for him now, but how long would that last? Soon they would start to resent him, for uprooting their nice, comfortable lives and plunging them all into scandal.

Marty sat up on his bed and scrubbed at his eyes, which seemed to have an endless supply of tears. He looked around idly, taking in the cluttered mess of his room: the guitars, amp, and keyboard; the books and magazines on his desk and on the floor; his battered backpack and both of his skateboards; the posters and framed pictures on his wall; the scattered items on his headboard shelf - pens, random pages of sheet music, empty soda cans and food wrappers, a pair of scissors. . .

Scissors.

Marty reached over and grabbed the hinged cutting tool. He had borrowed the _(kitchen shears?)_ the other day to cut some frayed strings off of his denim jacket, and had forgotten to return them. The shears commonly resided in the knife block in the kitchen; it was a stainless steel pair that Lorraine commonly used for cutting poultry or vegetables or pizza. After Lorraine would wash the shears, George would diligently re-sharpen them. Marty turned the silver blades over in his hands, watching them glint in the sunlight from his window. He opened and closed the scissors, riveted. He pressed a fingertip against one of the sharp points, and watched a bead of blood instantly well up on his pricked finger.

His hands had stopped shaking.

*******

Before Dave could answer his mother and before Emmett could explain his reaction, Linda meandered into the living room, looking frustrated. “I can't find it anywhere, Mom – oh, hi, Doctor Brown.”

Emmett smiled gratefully at the young woman who had interrupted the preceding conversation. “Linda, it's nice to see you. How are your classes at the community college going?”

Linda smiled back. "Pretty good, I'm really enjoying my beginner's sketching class." 

"Sketching?" Emmett echoed, milking the distraction. "How does that apply to fashion design? That is your interest, correct?"

Linda nodded happily. "It's related to drawing new clothing ideas, and showing how certain materials look with pleats or zippers or - "

Lorraine spoke up, cutting the pleasantries short. “What were you looking for, Linda?” she asked, exasperated.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. . ." Linda looked mildly embarrassed. "Um, it's that _Vogue_ magazine, the one with the article about the new fashions coming out of Europe.” The nineteen-year-old sighed theatrically. “I bet it’s in Marty’s room. Everything that’s missing in this house ends up there.”

“A _Vogue_ magazine?” David said skeptically. “And I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. I tried to talk to him earlier, but boy was he in a mood.” When Lorraine cleared her throat significantly, Dave quickly said, “Which is entirely understandable.”

Linda shrugged. “We can’t walk on eggshells around him forever. I think maybe the best thing we can do for him is treat him like we always did.”

“Maybe not so soon after what happened today,” Lorraine said tensely.

“Well, if he doesn’t want me to bother him, he can tell me himself.” Linda headed down the hall, turning left and approaching her brother's bedroom. “Hey, dork,” she yelled as she drew near, “I hope you’re decent, because I’m coming in!” Linda knocked twice, then twisted the doorknob and opened the door.

She smelled a faint metallic scent at first, and didn’t completely understand it. Then she saw her younger brother, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, slicing the sharp edge of a scissors blade across his right wrist. Blood was already flowing from Marty's left wrist, dripping onto his shirt and jeans. A puddle glistened on the carpet near his feet.

Linda stared in mute terror as Marty's right wrist began to seep dark red blood. And then she screamed.

**_TO BE CONTINUED. . ._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (not sorry) for the cliffhanger! 
> 
> I update tags frequently to follow what's happening in these new chapters.


	6. Rescued and Restrained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Linda discovers Marty and alerts her family, they go into rescue mode, with Doc leading the charge. Later, Marty experiences his first few hours in a questionably friendly environment.
> 
> _“Linda, can you help me?" Doc said. "I’d like some more smaller towels, in the case that we need to put a second bandage on either wrist, but I don’t want to release the pressure on his wound.”_
> 
> _Linda crept forward. “I – I don’t think I can hold his wrist. All the blood is making me feel sick.”_
> 
> _“That’s fine, I just need you to hand me and your mother some more towels, and fold them lengthwise like I did with the others.”_
> 
> _As Linda pulled two more hand towels from the pile of linens, Dave moved back into the room with the phone. “She says to keep the pressure on, and cover him up, because he might go into shock. They’re sending an ambulance and some cops. . .” He trailed off, listening to the emergency operator, and then responded. “Yeah, I’ll stay on the line.” Holding the phone to his ear, Dave watched the proceedings around his brother. He suddenly realized he was crying, and probably had been for several minutes_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a somewhat shorter chapter than most of the others in this fic. Also, there is a very brief reference to _Back to the Future: The Game._ If you blink, you'll miss it. 
> 
> -ck
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Back to the Future,_ Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, any of the McFly family members, or any other related characters (except for my original characters, several of which are in this chapter).
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.

**Sunday, October 27th, 1985**

**1:57 P.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

Lorraine reacted first to Linda’s scream, jumping up from the sofa, but Doc leapt up a millisecond later. As the scientist’s legs were longer, he beat both Lorraine and Dave to Marty’s room. Once he arrived, he found Linda was still standing in the doorway, petrified. Emmett barreled past her, knocking her aside with little thought - and then he froze, suddenly as immobile as the young woman. He would have screamed as well, if not for the fact that he could barely breathe.

Marty sat on the floor, both wrists dripping blood. His hands were resting limply on his knees, the left one still clutching a pair of what looked like kitchen scissors. His face was pale and blank. “I think I did it wrong,” he said, his voice oddly calm.

 _Move, Emmett, move!_ Doc dropped down in front of the teen, grimacing unconsciously as his right knee landed in the small puddle of blood. Emmett took the bloodied shears; Marty relinquished them with little argument. Then the scientist looked wildly around the room for some type of bandage, mentally calculating how much blood Marty may have already lost. _It looks worse than it is, if someone donates blood and it's not contained, it would look like this. . . Why that would happen I can't fathom. . . What is a safe donation amount? 16 ounces? Yes, a pint, I believe. And that's in a controlled environment, without the added detriment of self-inflicted injury. . . But surely this is more than a pint. . . How long has he been bleeding? How long had he been alone? When did we hear his door slam? Not more than ten minutes ago, probably less. Maybe five minutes? Could he have done this in just five minutes? **Why** did he do this_? Emmett knew his rapid-fire thoughts and scattered suppositions were largely unhelpful, but he was shocked and _scared._

Dave and Lorraine had made it into the room. “Jesus Christ,” Dave gasped. Lorraine fell to the floor next to Doc, flailing her hands out toward her bleeding son. “Oh, God, oh God, Emmett, help him!” she screamed.

Doc snapped to attention. _Stop hypothesising, just **do.**_ “I need bandages, something absorbent – “

“No,” Marty moaned. “Just leave me – “ he reached determinedly for the kitchen scissors that Doc had set aside. Doc moved the shears far out of Marty's reach, then grasped the teen by his shoulders, shaking him lightly. “I will not let you do this!” he cried.

“It’s hell, don’t want. . . “

Linda had broken from her paralysis; she had run to the linen closet and was now returning with several towels of different sizes. “Doc Brown, will these work?” she asked, as she deposited her offerings on Marty's bed.

Emmett quickly regarded the pile of towels. “Yes, thank you!” Dismissing the bath towels as too bulky, he chose a hand towel, refolded it lengthwise, and began to wrap it around Marty’s left wrist, which was bleeding more than the right. As Doc wound the towel tight, he absently deduced that Marty had probably made a broader cut on his left wrist because he was right handed – or that he had cut the left wrist first, for the same reason.

Marty fought against Doc, reaching awkwardly with his right hand in an attempt to remove the towel; in his floundering movements, the blood flow from his right wrist briefly increased, smearing across Doc’s hands. The scientist grimaced again, feeling nauseous. _There was a reason why I chose physics and not biology._

Mentally banishing his uneasiness, Emmett looked to Lorraine. “I need you to hold this towel on Marty’s wrist, so I can do the other one.” Lorraine nodded dully, sliding over to Marty’s left side and placing her hands where Doc indicated; once he was sure Lorraine had a firm hold of Marty’s wrist, Emmett released his own grip. “Keep constant pressure on it. Don’t lift it to check the bleeding,” he directed. Doc then took another towel from Linda’s pile, but before attending to Marty’s right wrist, he glanced back at Dave and Linda. “One of you call 9-1-1.”

“Nine one. . .” Linda repeated, confused.

“The emergency number, Linda!” Dave said. “I’m on it, Doc!” Not wanting to enter the room and get in the way, Dave ignored Marty’s phone and instead ran into the kitchen, grabbing the cordless phone off the counter.

Emmett had folded another hand towel, and as Lorraine firmly held Marty’s left wrist, Doc secured the second towel around Marty’s right. Marty had stopped resisting, and was regarding the events in an almost curious fashion. He gazed at his mother, who was quietly crying, and smiled wanly. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said faintly.

“Oh, baby – “ Lorraine relaxed her hold on Marty’s wrist, meaning to embrace him, but Emmett’s sharp voice stopped her. “Keep the pressure on, Lorraine!” he commanded, and Lorraine jerked, then re-wrapped both of her hands around Marty’s left wrist. The teen hissed in pain.

Once Doc was satisfied with the impromptu bandages on Marty’s wrists, he edged the young man back, attempting to loosen his crossed legs, but found it difficult while holding one hand tightly around Marty’s right wrist. “Help me lay him down,” he said to Lorraine, and between the two of them, they were able to get Marty into a prone position. The teen mumbled something incomprehensible, closing his eyes.

Dave returned to the doorway, holding the cordless phone. “I’ve got a woman on here, she wants to know if they're horizontal cuts or vertical, and what –" he cleared his throat "- what color the blood is.”

“Horizontal, and the blood is dark in color. It's flowing but not spurting, so they're venous cuts, not arterial," Doc reported. Dave repeated the words to himself, then stepped into the hallway with the phone and relayed the information. Lorraine stared at the scientist through her tears. “How do you know – “ She blinked, shaking her head. “What does that mean?”

Emmett repositioned his hands around Marty’s wrist, attempting to ignore that they were soiled with Marty’s blood. “It means he cut across his wrists, and only severed the veins.” He offered Lorraine a tense smile. “That’s good. Well, not good, but not as bad as it could’ve been. If he had cut up an arm and severed an artery. . .” Not finishing the statement, Doc turned his head around and addressed Linda. “Linda, can you help me? I’d like some more smaller towels, in the case that we need to put a second bandage on either wrist, but I don’t want to release the pressure on his wound.”

Linda crept forward. “I – I don’t think I can hold his wrist. All the blood is making me feel sick.”

“That’s fine, I just need you to hand me and your mother some more towels, and fold them lengthwise like I did with the others.”

As Linda pulled two more hand towels from the pile of linens, Dave moved back into the room with the phone. “She says to keep the pressure on, and cover him up, because he might go into shock. They’re sending an ambulance and some cops. . .” He trailed off, listening to the emergency operator, and then responded. “Yeah, I’ll stay on the line.” Holding the phone to his ear, Dave watched the proceedings around his brother. He suddenly realized he was crying, and probably had been for several minutes.

Linda held out two partially folded towels to Doc; he passed one over to Lorraine. “Just in case,” he said, “but hopefully they won’t be necessary. I think the one towel may be enough. I don’t believe he cut very deep – either because of the type of implement he used, or because of choice.” Emmett looked down at Marty, who now had his eyes open, although they were glassy and unfocused.

“That's a hell of a lot of blood for not cutting very deep,” Linda said dimly. Dave nudged her with an elbow. “Shut up!” he whispered. 

Sirens pierced the air, far off but growing in volume. Linda and Dave exchanged glances. “I’ll go,” Dave said, and ran to the front door, still holding the phone.

Marty followed Dave’s exit with his eyes, then dragged his view back to Lorraine and Doc. “Cold,” he said hoarsely.

“Damn it – Linda!” The young woman stepped forward. “Grab the comforter off of Marty’s bed, and cover him with it!” Doc ordered.

Linda pulled the comforter, blanket and sheets all off of the bed; the remainder of the towels also tumbled to the floor. Linda clumsily picked the comforter out of the pile. She shook it out, then leaned down and gently draped it over her brother, taking care to not cover his wrists, which were being clenched by her mother and the scientist. “Is that good, Doc Brown?”

“Yes, very, thank you.”

The sirens that had been in the distance were now so loud as to be overbearing. Then the noise abruptly ceased, and authoritative voices could be heard in the front of the house, asking questions of Dave. A minute later, two police officers entered the already crowded room – and one familiar face gasped loudly. “Marty?” he said in wonder.

Marty stared up at the officer standing above him. A man that he had once thought was a shoe salesman, but was now apparently a police officer. In his addled state, Marty wasn’t sure if the change of profession was a result of his altered timeline, or a vision borne of pain, blood loss, and shock.

“Hi, Mr. Parker,” Marty greeted Jennifer’s father. And then he passed out.

In the time period between the officers’ entrance and the arrival of the ambulance, Marty gradually awoke from his faint. But once the EMTs began to assess him, taking his vitals, fixing securing wraps around the towels, and lifting him onto a stretcher, Marty kept his eyes closed and feigned senselessness. It was easier. He didn’t want to have to explain or justify his actions, or describe the freeing clarity that had overtaken him once he had seen the misplaced scissors. . . Feeling _(knowing)_ that the only way out of this current hellish timeline was to end his own existence, he’d sliced the sharp blade across his left wrist almost before he’d been aware of it. In fact, he hadn’t precisely known what he was doing until he'd lifted the shears away and had seen the blood.

Initially, the immediacy and the _amount_ of the blood had made him pause. But then he’d had an odd insight: if he hesitated too long before cutting his right wrist, his left hand would be unable to properly grasp the scissors. So with his left wrist dripping blood and a firm resolve, he’d slit open his right wrist, diligently following through even when he’d heard someone knock on and then open his bedroom door.

The stretcher suddenly rose into the air. Marty gasped involuntarily, fearing he might fall off, even though he could feel the restraints holding his body tightly to the cot. A tender hand caressed his face, and Marty squinted open his eyes to see his mother at his side. “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart,” she said, adjusting the blanket the paramedics had spread over him. "I'll be right behind the ambulance." Then the stretcher moved again, only this time it was rolling, bumping along the hallway floor, out into the entryway, and then carefully down the front steps.

The motion made him sick to his stomach, the contraptions attached to his body made him feel small and weak, and the glimpse of the group of neighbors, standing nearby and gawking, made him feel embarrassed and ashamed. So he squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed for oblivion.

Before the ambulance had exited Lyon Estates, Marty was again unconscious.

* * *

**Monday, October 28th, 1985**

**8:49 A.M.**

**Grass Valley, California**

"They told me not to show my face at the funeral, but fuck, her death was as much their fault as mine. I figured I had a right to be there, you know?" The seventeen-year-old raised a hand to run it over his close-cropped dark hair. The movement exposed the angry-looking line of stitches down his forearm.

 ** _He_** _knew what he was doing,_ Marty thought, trying not to stare. He looked down at his own gauze-wrapped wrists, the right of which also sported a plastic hospital band. He knew his scars would be mild in comparison. He'd needed sutures for both cuts, (six in the left wrist, four in the right), but as he hadn’t sliced an artery or any nerves, his time at Hill Valley General had been relatively brief. In fact, the ER doctors' ability to adequately patch him up without admitting him was the main reason why Marty had been ultimately transferred to Grass Valley's Bedford Psychiatric Hospital, where he was in the first day of a three-day committal.

The dark-haired teen continued. “So some of you already heard this, but for the newbies –“ here the boy looked directly at Marty “– the shit hit the fan at the funeral. My girlfriend’s dad was yelling at me to leave, her mom was crying, the easel – you know, the thing they use to put pictures and shit on – got knocked over. . . “ He paused, and ran a hand across his eyes. “All I wanted was to see Amber in the casket, and say a prayer, you know?”

 _“You know,_ ” Marty muttered, under his breath. 

The boy with the forearm stitches turned to Marty. “The fuck you say?”

One of the group therapists ( _Carol?_ Marty wondered) looked sternly at the teen who had cursed at him. “Martín,” she warned, “that’s not necessary.” She then turned to Marty. “And Marty, I know this is your first group therapy session, but one of the rules is to not interrupt another member’s share.”

Martín and Marty stared at one another. “Your name is Martin?” Marty asked, baffled.

“Mar _tín_ ,” the other boy corrected, stressing the accent.

A frighteningly-thin girl with pink hair rolled her eyes at Marty. “You listen for shit, don’t you? He said his name when he started his share.”

“Sarah – “

Marty interrupted the other group therapist _(Todd?)_. “I’m sorry, okay?!” he answered Sarah. “This is all new to me!”

Martín grinned at Sarah. “You wanna know something really crazy?“

“Martín!”

“Sorry, Ted. Sarah, you wanna know something really nuts?“ Ted sighed loudly, but Martín continued. “He –" he nodded at Marty “– is my new roomie, and he had no clue what my name is, when it's his own damn name!

There was a rumble of laughter among the members of the therapy group. Marty felt his face flush. It was true he’d had no idea of Martín’s name – Marty hadn’t been paying full attention to the group therapy session, and as for last evening. . . When he’d arrived at the psychiatric hospital, he’d been panicked, shell-shocked and still in pain. He’d also still been in a hospital gown (the emergency room had sent his blood-stained clothes home with his mother, but Marty was fairly sure Lorraine would toss them). He’d soon found his personal clothes would’ve been taken away anyway – all of the patients were issued ordinary, institutional-grade clothes, including underwear and socks and shoes without laces.

Upon his admittance to Bedford's teen ward, Marty had been given a physical examination, during which his random injuries had been categorized (mild facial scrapes, bruising on the back, raised lump above the right ear, cut wrists). Following the exam there had been a quick rundown of the hospital’s rules, although an overwhelmed and exhausted Marty had only remembered one or two, such as “No sexual relations between patients” _(What?)_ and “Not following the rules results in a loss of privileges” _(What were the rules again?)._ It had been after 8:00 p.m. when he’d finally been shown to his room. Barely caring that the room’s window was made of safety glass and the blanket on the bed was almost see-through, he’d fallen asleep in minutes. He’d never heard his roommate enter an hour later, and when Martín had tried to speak to him in the morning, Marty had fumbled the thin blanket over his head and had refused to answer. He would have stayed in bed all day if they had let him (he would’ve stayed in bed the full 72 hours), but a staff member had come to walk him to breakfast at 7:30, and hadn’t taken “I’m not hungry,” for an answer.

Marty didn’t want to be in the psych hospital, he didn’t want to be in group therapy, and he didn’t want to deal with the other patients ragging on him. He attempted to clench his fists (a common reaction when he was angered), but neither fist obeyed, and pain lanced up both wrists. The fact that his hands wouldn’t do what he wanted got him more upset than the other teens’ teasing, and he jumped up from his folding chair, ready to make for the door of the meeting room.

“Marty!” Ted said loudly. “Sit _down_!”

“Why?” Marty shot back. “Why should I have to listen to this?”

Martín stood as well, and came to stand before Marty. “Because the world sucks. You know that, or you wouldn’t be here.” He gestured at Marty’s bandaged wrists. “If you can’t handle a little ribbing in here, how are you gonna make it when you’re back out in the real world?”

“This isn’t the real world,” Marty said. “You don’t know anything about the real world. In the real world, Amber never had an abortion and then killed herself, and you didn’t try to follow her like goddamn _Romeo and Juliet_. No, in the _real_ world, you and Amber are probably engaged and expecting a baby.”

Martín stared at Marty; the dark-haired teen’s face was white with shock and disbelief. The rest of the patients descended into tense silence.

Marty jumped when a hand dropped on his shoulder. “Marty,” Carol said quietly. “You need to come with me.”

**_TO BE CONTINUED. . ._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but I get into cliff-hanger moods. It does help you decide when you want to stop writing for the day. :)


	7. A Very Unstable Musician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty is forced to admit the main reason why he attempted to take his life, and then finds an odd kinship with an earlier enemy.  
>  __
> 
> _Marty swore quietly and reflexively crossed his arms, only to gasp in pain when his tender wrists chafed against his chest. He quickly dropped his arms. Dr. Vincent clicked his tongue lightly, then picking up a pen, he made a notation on Marty’s paperwork._
> 
> _“What – what was that? What did you write down?” Marty asked, trying to catch a view of the folder. The pain in his wrists was momentarily forgotten._
> 
> _Instead of answering, the psychiatrist lowered the pen, again leaned forward on his desk, and looked levelly at Marty. “I’d like to discuss what happened yesterday,” he nodded in the direction of Marty’s bandages, “and why you feel the desire to take your life.”_
> 
> _“I don’t,” Marty said flatly._
> 
> _“You don’t feel the desire to take your life?”_
> 
> _“No.” Marty shook his head. “No, I mean: no, I don’t want to discuss it.”_
> 
> _Dr. Vincent smiled gently. “That’s not really a choice, Marty.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story took an interesting turn - it started being about Marty's abuse by his father and his burgeoning relationship with Doc, and has now become more about Marty's mental breakdown and suicide attempt, and the results of that terrible choice. I will get back to Marty's family and back to Doc, but Marty's got to figure some things out first.
> 
> -ck
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies (see previous chapter).

**Monday, October 28th, 1985**

**8:58 A.M.**

**Grass Valley, California**

Marty waited until he and Carol were out of the room, but she had barely closed the door when he rounded on her. "Why are you singling me out? They were ganging up on me in there, you saw it!"  
  
"I did, but you have to realize you're not the only person in here struggling," Carol answered calmly. "There are teens here with eating disorders and drug addictions and personality disorders. You don't have a monopoly on pain. And if you actually participated in group therapy, or just listened, you'd realize that."

Marty looked down at his hands, and studied the hospital band circling the bandage on his right wrist. There was a sequence of numbers on the band (to Marty it was comparable to the numbers prisoners had printed on their uniforms) and under the numbers it read _"Martin S. McFly / DOB 06-12-68 / Allergies: None / Pers Phys: F Samuels, Hill Vlly Gen.”_

“Marty?” Carol prodded.

"Sorry," the teen mumbled. He lifted his gaze. "I should say sorry to Martín too, huh?"

Carol smiled humorlessly. "I think that would be a good idea, since you're his roommate." She looked at a nearby clock. "But that will have to wait. The reason I pulled you out is because you have your intake appointment with Dr. Vincent."

"Intake appointment."

Carol nodded, starting to walk down the hall and indicating that Marty should follow. "Typically you have an intake appointment on arrival, but you arrived late in the evening, so your appointment was postponed until this morning." The therapist looked over at Marty. "This should have been mentioned when you were admitted last night."

He sighed, gazing down at the floor. "Yeah, I hardly remember half of what they told me last night. Yesterday is kind of a blur - the whole day was crazy." He stopped, then glanced up apologetically. "Sorry. I know that word is kinda taboo in here."

This time Carol's smile was more natural. "I think I can let it slide this one time." Their walk had taken them to a set of locked double doors that led to a small wing. Carol unlocked the doors with a key from a set that had been securly clipped to her belt. On the other side of the doors was the medication closet, the infirmary (where Marty had been been examined the night before), the "Quiet Room," and a few office-type rooms with chairs flanking their doors. She stopped outside one of these office rooms, then pressed a button on an intercom set next to yet another locked door. "Dr. V, it's Carol Whitman. I have Marty McFly with me."

A voice crackled back. "Very good, Carol, just a moment please." There was a beat of about five seconds, and then, with a buzz and a click, the door popped open. Carol grasped the handle, pulling it open and gaining them both entry.

Once Marty was seated in a worn vinyl chair before the psychiatrist's desk, Carol turned to leave the room. "Just page me when you're through, Doc," she said.

The middle-aged man ( _probably around Dad's age_ , Marty thought) nodded at the woman. "I can escort him to the day room if time permits," he said. Marty sighed inwardly. He’d been in the psych ward barely 14 hours (and awake for less than four) but the fact that he had to be escorted and supervised everywhere was getting kind of old.

Carol shut the door; Marty heard the electric lock engage. He looked at the doctor. "Aren't you worried about being locked in here alone with some headcase?" he asked. "What if somebody tries to attack you, and nobody can get in here to help you because the door's locked?"

Dr. Vincent regarded Marty mildly. "Are you planning to attack me?"

Marty cut his eyes to the side, and sucked at his cheeks. He didn't answer.

The doctor chuckled lightly. "Because you asked, if I'm seeing a physically violent patient, the door is kept unlocked and there are appropriately trained staff members located outside the door." He lowered his eyes, studying a folder on the desk before him. "But according to your file, you're not physically violent; you don't pose a threat to anyone other than yourself."

Marty was interested in spite of his annoyance. "I have a file?"

The doctor held up a manila folder. "This contains your psych eval from your emergency room visit yesterday, as well as a written report of your mother’s interview with the Hill Valley General psychologist. Of course I also have your medical records, which list any allergies or medications you might be on - " 

"I don't have any allergies," Marty said, lifting his right wrist and brandishing his bracelet. "And I'm not on any medications. You sure you got the right file?"

Indulging Marty’s distraction, Dr. Vincent opened the folder. “Martin See-mus – “

“Shay-mus,” Marty corrected, purposefully separating the syllables.

“Thank you. Martin _Seamus_ McFly, birthdate June 12th, 1968, address 9303 Lyon Drive, Hill Valley, California, parents George –“

Marty interrupted the doctor again. “Yeah, okay, fine, it’s my file.”

Vincent smiled tightly, then read a few more lines. “No known allergies. Medications. . . “ He tapped a finger on the paper from which he was reading. “You’ve been prescribed a painkiller by your emergency room physician, to be distributed every four hours, as needed.” He looked up. “You would obtain those in the dispensary, or 'pill line'; the medication is connected to the number and information on your bracelet.“ The doctor leaned back in his chair. “Were you not informed of this?”

Marty shrugged, not wanting to tell another staff member that he was still lost when it came to the ins and outs of the psychiatric hospital. “It’s ‘as needed,’ right? I haven’t needed it.”

Dr. Vincent raised his eyebrows and sat forward, leaning clasped hands on his desk. “I would think the painkiller they gave you in the emergency room wore off hours ago.”

Marty glared back. “That’s what we’re going to talk about? Some lousy pills? If I promise to go take them right now, can I leave?” He jerked his head toward the doorway.

“No.”

Marty swore quietly and reflexively crossed his arms, only to gasp in pain when his tender wrists chafed against his chest. He quickly dropped his arms. Dr. Vincent clicked his tongue lightly, then picking up a pen, he made a notation on Marty’s paperwork.

“What – what was that? What did you write down?” Marty asked, trying to catch a view of the folder. The pain in his wrists was momentarily forgotten.

Instead of answering, the psychiatrist lowered the pen, again leaned forward on his desk, and looked levelly at Marty. “I’d like to discuss what happened yesterday,” he nodded in the direction of Marty’s bandages, “and why you feel the desire to take your life.”

“I don’t,” Marty said flatly.

“You _don’t_ feel the desire to take your life?”

“No.” Marty shook his head. “No, I mean: no, I don’t want to discuss it.”

Dr. Vincent smiled gently. “That’s not really a choice, Marty.”

Marty sat up straighter, and glowered at the doctor. “You can’t force me to talk,” he said stubbornly.

“No, I suppose I can’t. But if you don’t cooperate, and if you don’t follow the ward rules or the directions of the therapists and the staff, your privileges will be suspended. That means no phone calls home, and no visitors.”

Marty laughed darkly. “I’m out of here on Wednesday. I think I can make it a few days without calling home.”

“Your involuntary commitment is 72 hours. If you refuse to take advantage of the facility and I feel you are still a danger to yourself, I will advise your parents of my findings; they and I may come to an agreement that you need to remain here past Wednesday.”

Marty’s angry mask slipped. “You – you can’t – there needs to be a hearing. I remember that! The social worker at the ER told me that!”

“That’s true. Is that the route you want to go?” Dr. Vincent closed the manila file on his desk. “Will you be retaining your own lawyer, or do you need someone from special counsel to contact you?”

“Um. . .” Marty looked around the room, blinking against a sudden welling of tears. “I, um. . .”

Vincent reached for a box of tissues on the side of his desk, and standing, he stretched forward and offered them to Marty. Marty looked at the box, and then smiled through his tears. “I can’t really grab them out of the box – my fine motor’s not great.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry.” The doctor pulled several tissues out of the box, then rose and brought them over to Marty. Instead of going back to his desk chair, the man rested against the front of his desk, and watched quietly while Marty wiped at his eyes and nose.

“Would you like to reconsider talking about your suicide attempt?”

Marty gasped back a sob, and rubbed an arm over his eyes. “Don't you - you said you have some interview from my mom? In my folder, I mean?”

“Yes, I do. She spoke with the hospital psychologist who evaluated you in the ER, and I have a transcribed copy of that meeting."

“Well, can’t you read that?” Marty sniffled. “Doesn’t that say why I did it?”

“Marty.” The doctor placed his hands in his pockets, settling more comfortably against his desk. “If all I had to do to get a feel of where you are at mentally and emotionally was to read this file-“ he nodded back at the folder on his desk “-you wouldn’t be in my office. I need to talk to _you_. You need to talk to _me_.”

Marty began breathing quicker, and his stomach started to churn. “I – it just _hurts_. It hurts so much. I just wanted it to stop.”

“And you felt the only way you could do that was by killing yourself?”

Marty shrugged and shook his head at the same time. “I just couldn’t _take_ it anymore. Everything changed, it wasn’t like it used to be, and I can’t fix it, I can’t put it back the way it was, because he’s going to destroy it, and even if he didn’t I don’t think we could fix it – “

“Marty, I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Dr. Vincent interjected.

Marty lifted his arms and shook them in the direction of the doctor. “And I’m a musician! A guitarist! And I did this to my wrists, my hands! The doctor at the ER said I can do therapy and exercises after I get the stitches out, but I might not get them back one hundred percent and if that happens. . . “ He lowered his head, suddenly feeling dizzy. “I try to fix things and I just end up making them worse,” he mumbled to the floor.

“You had believed suicide would ‘fix’ things,” the psychiatrist said, picking up on the muttered words.

Marty shook his head, unable to respond.

“Marty. _Marty_. What would killing yourself accomplish?”

Marty jerked his head up. “I wouldn’t have to see him anymore!”

“Who?”

“My dad!” For once Marty wasn’t crying, he was _pissed_. “The asshole sexually abuses me for three years, and when I finally get the courage to fight him off, when I finally tell my friend and my family what happened, and after my mom fucking _kicks him out,_ he still finds me and tries to fucking rape me. Which,” Marty laughed crazily, “isn’t any different from what he'd been doing for three years, except that it _was_ different, because he knew I’d told, and he wanted to punish me - “ Marty took a deep breath, running his disobeying fingers over his hair. “He’s always gonna be there. Even if my mom divorces him, he’ll still be my siblings’ father. He’ll still be my grandparents’ son. I’ll never be rid of him.”

“That’s true,” Dr. Vincent said softly. “Even if he wasn’t in your life through your relatives, you would still never be rid of him. You have to learn to live with his existence in your past, if you want to have a future.”

“Future, huh?” Marty said, his voice cracking.

The psychiatrist pushed off the front of his desk, then moved back around to his chair. Again picking up his pen, he made a few more notes in Marty’s file, then looked up to see if the teen had collected himself. “Are you all right?”

Marty snorted. “I don’t think I get to be all right.”

Dr. Vincent frowned at the sarcastic tone. “Marty. Can you tell me your frame of mind right now?”

“Regarding what?” Marty asked tiredly, gazing up at the ceiling.

“Do you still feel like killing yourself?”

Marty turned his eyes back to the psychiatrist and stared at him quietly for several seconds before he responded.

“I don’t know.”

_Some more fan art from Mcfly88 (Marty in the psychiatrist's office)._

* * *

The rest of the day moved at a glacial pace. There were random activities in the day room; cards and board games to play, books and three-month old magazines to read. The patients were allowed outside in a central garden area for a half hour before lunch (most of which Marty left on his tray, eliciting a frown from the kitchen staff). Many of the patients were assigned chores, whether it was cleaning or working in the garden (and any time a patient used a tool that could be conceivably wielded as a weapon, that patient was closely supervised). As Marty was unable to grasp a mop or a broom or a rake, he was relegated to laundry duty.

After lunch and chores, there was another group therapy session. This time Marty paid attention and made it all the way through without pissing anyone off, but when it was his turn to share, he did nothing more than introduce himself and say, "I tried to kill myself. I guess I'm not very good at it."

At supper, when Marty was sitting lethargically poking at the mystery meat, mashed potatoes, and wilted broccoli, Martín slid onto the bench seat next to him, carrying a mostly-empty tray. "Hey, roomie."

Marty looked suspiciously at the Hispanic boy. "Hi."

Martín jabbed a plastic spoon at Marty's full tray. "You're not eating." 

Marty pushed his tray away slightly. "I'm not hungry. And this food is lousy anyway."

"Nah, it's edible today. You'd know if you tried it."

Marty scowled. "Even if I wanted to eat, I can hardly hold the utensils." He'd attempted to eat the applesause, but after failing to keep the spoon securely in his hand, he'd given up.

Martín shrugged. "Next time just cut one arm." 

Marty stared, not sure if the other boy was being serious. Martín, seeing the wide eyes and interpreting them correctly, paused from his eating and held both of his arms out toward Marty. "First time I tried, I was 15. I did the 'cry for attention' cuts like you."

Even as Marty bristled at the words, he was curious. Martín's older scars, while apparent, were thin and pale, nothing like the obvious and ugly scar along his left forearm. "What happened?" Marty asked. "The first time? Was it bad?"

Martín had taken another bite; he shrugged again as he chewed. After swallowing and taking a drink of milk, he answered. "I did it in the bathroom, with a razor blade. Damn place looked like a murder scene. My dad kicked the door in, slipped on the blood, and fell on his ass." Martín stunned Marty by laughing with genuine humor. "They got me to the hospital pretty quick, but my hands were shit for like a week. Couldn't do anything, not even wipe my ass."

Marty grimaced at the crude information. Then, on impulse, he said, "I used a pair of kitchen scissors."

"No shit?"

Marty shook his head.

"That's _loco_. Your scars are gonna be screwed up.” Marty opened his mouth to question that statement, but Martín immediately followed it up with a comment that was probably meant as a compliment. “That must’ve hurt like a bitch.”

Marty looked down at his wrists. “Uh, no. . . I mean, I don’t know what it would have felt like if I’d used something else, like a knife or a razor blade, but I don’t remember it hurting.” He lowered his hands into his lap, hiding them under the table. “I don’t really remember doing it.”

Surprisingly, Martín nodded energetically. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I remember this last one-“ he gestured at his arm “-but not so much the first time. Like when I did it. I remember _before_ , when I locked myself in the bathroom, and I remember _after_ , when my dad broke in and fell, and my sister started freaking out. But during. . . When the blood started flowing outta me, it kinda blew my mind. Like, I couldn’t believe I had actually _done_ it, you know? Hey, are you gonna eat or not?”

Marty, initially amazed that Martín’s description of his first suicide attempt _(first!)_ was similar to his, was next startled by the boy’s quick change in subject. It reminded him of Doc’s conversation process, and Marty felt a sudden pang in his chest, an _ache_ , when he thought of how much he missed the man who had become his lover.

“Hey. Marty!”

“Wha– Oh. No, I don’t have any appetite.”

Martín scanned the small cafeteria, waited until he was sure he and Marty weren’t being directly observed, and then quickly swapped their dinner trays. He started to dig in to Marty’s meal, and while chewing, he nodded at his former nearly-empty tray, now in front of Marty. "That's yours now, get it?“ Marty nodded shortly. "They keep track of what you eat, or don’t eat," Martín explained, then swallowed. "You keep up this hunger strike thing, you can forget about getting out of here after your 72 hours. Your shrink will keep you here outta spite.” He opened Marty's milk carton. “Who’s your doc?”

Marty blanched, misunderstanding Martín’s question. “’Doc’?”

“Your shrink.” Martín took another bite. “You had your intake, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Marty sighed in relief. “It’s Vincent – Dr. Vincent.”

Martín lifted his injured arm, and did a see-saw motion with his hand. “He’s okay. I had him first time I was here. That’s when I met Amber. She was in here for schizophrenia – well, schizo tendencies. Plus anxiety and bulimia. . . “ He set his plastic fork down. “It was here we first hooked up.”

“I thought that was against the rules.”

Martín grinned. “When you’re stuck in here for a month, then you can talk to me about that ‘no sex’ rule."

Marty shuddered. “I’m getting out of here on Wednesday evening. Thursday morning at the latest.”

Martín nodded. “Okay, _ese_. But you better start eating and sharing more in group. And you don’t have to hide your fuckin’ wrists. Sarah doesn’t hide her anorexia, and Toni doesn’t hide all the cuts she has on her arms. I don’t hide this.” He raised his stitched-up arm. “I had a bandage on when I got here, and I took it off. It’s not like I’m here visiting, you know?”

Marty nodded. “I – I don’t know if I’m ready to do that, take the bandages off.” He lifted his arms from his lap, and studied the wraps of gauze. “I just did this yesterday, and they’re pretty sore and gross.”

Martín grunted. “You got in here fast. Lotta times you gotta wait days for a bed to open up. You’re lucky my old roommate was gone.”

“What, did he get discharged?”

Martín shoved the last of Marty’s potatoes in his mouth. “No. He hung himself over the bathroom door, with the blanket and sheets from your bed. That’s why you’ve got crappy ones. They were the only extras they had that were clean.”

Marty suddenly felt faint. “He – he _what?”_

Martín leaned forward. “Hey. Hey!” Quickly, the other boy reached for one of Marty’s wrists and pinched it firmly.

Marty jerked his arm away, “Jesus, _ow!”_ He held his aggravated arm to his chest, cradling it. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

Martín appeared unashamed. “You looked like you were gonna pass out, man!”

“Do you blame me?” Marty said.

Martín scoffed. “How d’ya think I feel? I was the one that found him.”

Marty prodded at the remnants of congealed gravy on the tray in front of him. “How does something like that happen here?” he asked quietly. “They won't give us shoelaces. They make us use plastic silverware." He let the fork drop from his uncooperative fingers. "They watch us like hawks.”

Martín stood up. “If someone wants to off themselves bad enough, they’ll find a way.” He picked up Marty’s former tray, which was now fairly empty. “Thanks for the second meal.”

“Sure.” Marty gazed up at the Hispanic boy. “Thanks for – well, eating it.” The fact that Martín had eaten his meal to save him from getting in trouble for not eating was not lost on Marty.

“No problem.” Martín grinned. “You and me, we’re the _Hermanos Martín_. We gotta stick together.”

Marty watched as Martín took his tray up to the window. “That’s fine,” he muttered, “as long we don’t stick together past Wednesday.”

_**TO BE CONTINUED. . .** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is a humorous reference to Trump's description of himself as a "very stable genius."


	8. Sincerely Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty can't sleep, and his insomnia ends up annoying his roommate into having a heart-to-heart talk.
> 
> _“So what’s your girl's name?” Martín asked._
> 
> _“Jennifer. Well, it was. I mean, that’s still her name, but we kind of broke up Saturday night. Or Sunday morning, I guess," Marty clarified. "It was late."_
> 
> _“What, like yesterday?”_
> 
> _“Really early yesterday," Marty answered._
> 
> _Martín whistled. “You broke up with her, and then later in the day you try to kill yourself. And you’re telling me I’m like Romeo.”_
> 
> _“You do know the end result of Romeo and Juliet, don’t you?” Marty said. “They each kill themselves. That’s the point I was trying to make when I said that.” He sighed, irritated. “Jennifer didn’t kill herself or pretend to and we didn’t get married in secret or anything. We just broke up – ‘cause I was . . . seeing somebody else.”_
> 
> _“You were seeing two girls at once?” Martín said. "¡Bravo!, man!"_
> 
> _Marty, still lying down, turned away so that Martín didn’t have a good view of his face. “Uh, no, not exactly two girls.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bedroom scene without a lot of sleeping (or sex). Marty is still feeling unsure about his mental stability. It's a good thing he's got a kind-of-crazy roommate to help him out. 
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply (I don't own _BTTF_ or the characters, except for my own original characters).
> 
> -ck

**Monday, October 28th, 1985**

**10:16 P.M.**

**Grass Valley, California**

As fast as Marty had conked out the night before (the result of his injury-related exhaustion), on his second night in the teen ward at Bedford, he was unable to sleep. He lay on his back at first, until the bruises on his back, still painful, caused him to turn onto his side. The only problem with that position was that he was now facing the bathroom. Since Martín's story, Marty couldn't look at the bathroom door without picturing an unknown boy (in Marty's imagination, he looked like the main character from that movie _The Outsiders_ ), a sheet wrapped tightly around his neck and tied to a blanket that hung up and over the door. (Marty wasn’t exactly sure of the mechanics, but he had no desire to ask Martín.) In his mind's eye, the doomed teen's face was swollen grotesquely, his eyes bulging and his tongue protruding. . . Marty had never seen anyone who'd been hanged, other than in western-themed movies, but that didn't prevent him from seeing it in his head.

Marty flipped himself over onto his stomach, attempting to pound his pillow without causing too much pain in his wrists. He felt most comfortable on his stomach, but a combination of hunger and the lumpiness of the mattress soon nixed that idea. He twisted onto his back again and blinked up at the ceiling, suddenly overwhelmingly lonely. He was homesick, too; that had been exacerbated by a brief call home after supper (which had been little more than he and his mother crying and apologizing to each other). But his homesickness was little match for his loneliness.

His bed felt empty.

When Marty turned again, this time on his side facing away from the bathroom, Martín sighed loudly. “For fuck’s sake, Marty, go to sleep!”

“I can’t. I’m not tired.”

“Well, I am! And we gotta get up at the crack of dawn, so I dunno – count sheep or some shit. You rolling around every two minutes is driving me nuts!”

“I’m sorry,” Marty said, “I just can’t get comfortable. And I miss having someone in bed with me.”

Martín propped himself up on an elbow. “No way, McFly. Don’t even think it.”

“No, I - I didn’t. . .” Marty sputtered, flustered. “That’s not what – “

Martín grinned in the semi-darkness; Marty saw the boy’s teeth flash in the light that bled in from the hall. “I’m jerkin’ your chain, _amigo_.”

Marty laughed nervously. “Yeah, I knew that.”

“Bullshit.”

Marty didn’t continue the argument. The truth was, he didn’t exactly know how to read Martín; he was just glad the Hispanic teen’s bark seemed worse than his bite.

Martín leaned out of his bed. “You miss your girl, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” Marty answered, not bothering to make the correction. “And with my hands not working great, I can’t even jerk off.”

After a beat, Martín said, “I toldya you should’ve just cut one arm.”

Marty giggled, and then both boys began to laugh boisterously. They were loud enough that the staff member monitoring their hall came and rapped on the door. “Hey! It’s lights out! You two don’t want to sleep with your door open, quiet down!”

The two Martins softened their loud laughing into quiet giggles. When Martín was mostly recovered, he sat up half-way, wiped the tears from his eyes, and looked again at Marty. “So what’s her name?”

“Jennifer. Well, it was. I mean, that’s still her name, but we kind of broke up.”

“Kind of.”

“Okay. Not kind of. We broke up. Saturday night. Or Sunday morning, I guess,” Marty clarified. “It was late.”

“What, like this Sunday? Like _yesterday?”_

“I guess,” Marty repeated. “Really early yesterday.”

Martín whistled. “You broke up with her, and then later in the day you try to kill yourself. And you’re telling me _I’m_ like Romeo.”

“You _do_ know the end result of _Romeo and Juliet_ , don’t you?” Marty said. “They each kill themselves. That’s the point I was trying to make when I said that.” He sighed, irritated. “Jennifer didn’t kill herself or pretend to and we didn’t get married in secret or anything. Hell, her dad's a cop, so a 'secret' marriage never could've happened." Marty knew Danny Parker as a dedicated and intelligent police officer, who was proudly following in the footsteps of his policeman father, Danny Parker, Sr. When Marty and Jennifer had started dating, he'd been intimated by Officer Parker's official status. Oddly, in his fuzzy pre-time travel memories of Mr. Parker the shoe salesman, he recalled being just as intimidated.

"Shit, a cop? Did he make you guys break up, say you weren't good enough for his little girl?" Martín said, with the bitter knowledge of one who had heard that phrase, and had paid the price. 

"No, nothing like that," Marty answered. "We just broke up – ‘cause I was . . . seeing somebody else.”

“You were seeing two girls at once?” Martín said. _"¡Bravo!,_ man!"

Marty, still lying down, turned away so that Martín didn’t have a good view of his face. “Uh, no, not exactly two girls.” 

“What, exactly?” Martín demanded.

Marty blew out sharply. “The other person I was seeing, the one I broke up with Jennifer over . . . is a guy.” Marty wasn’t sure why he felt the sudden urge to be honest with his roommate. It was possibly because he wanted to get a feel for how a stranger would react to his homosexual relationship. It also helped that, after Wednesday, he’d probably never see Martín again. Yet Marty still couldn’t look at the other boy, and he held his breath as he waited for a response. 

There was a brief silence, then Martín repeated, “A guy.”

“Yeah.”

Martín groaned, flopping back in his bed. “Damn it! I owe Rocky ten bucks!”

This time is was Marty who sat up in his bed to study his roommate. “ _What?”_

“Rocky. You know, the heroin addict? He was helping me clean the day room, when you were stuck doing laundry duty. He bet me you were gay. I said no.”

Marty wasn’t sure what bothered him more – that he was the subject of a bet, or that he was possibly putting out “gay” vibes. “Wait – is _Rocky_ gay?”

“Uh, yeah – that’s how he knew you were, right? You guys can sense each other?”

Marty shook his head, flustered. “I – I don’t know, I didn’t even know _I_ was gay until a couple months ago – and I might not even _be_ gay! I had a girlfriend, and we did stuff. Like - well, _stuff_.”

“So, what, you’re bi?” Martín asked curiously, sitting up again.

“I – “ Marty sighed in exasperation, tossing one hand out awkwardly. “I guess if I have to pick, I would say I’m bi. I really did love Jenn. We never slept together, but that was just timing – and other things. I think if I hadn’t started seeing D- Emmett, Jennifer and I would’ve slept together. I know we were planning a trip to the lake this last weekend, and she was ready to do it. We just never made it to the lake. I told her about Emmett, and we ended up breaking up instead.”

“That’s screwed up,” Martín sympathized. “What did she do when you told her about your dude? Smack you in the face or knee you in the _cojones_ or something?”

Marty smiled. “Nah. Jenn knows Emmett. We’ve all been friends for a while, and she trusts the guy. She said as long as I was happy, she was okay.”

“Wow.” Martín slid back so he was lying down again, and Marty followed suit. “Emmett,” Martín said. “That’s kind of a weird name.”

“Yeah, well he’s older – “ Marty broke off abruptly.

Martín lifted his head. “Older. How much older?”

Marty shook his head, not willing to divulge the specifics. “Just older.”

Martín squinted at his roommate. “You’re seventeen, right? Like me?”

“Yeah. . .”

“So if he’s older, he’s over eighteen.”

“He’s over eighteen,” Marty admitted.

“And are you fucking him?”

Marty flushed; he was very happy that in the near-darkness, Martín couldn’t see the blush. “We, ah, we mostly do mouth and hand stuff.” They’d also fallen together and passionately coupled their groins, rubbing and grinding to achieve orgasm, with and without the additional help of hands. But as of yet, there’d been no penetration - other than with fingers. Doc hadn’t yet broached the idea of anal, and Marty had been thankful for that, as prior to Saturday night, he'd still been secretly mired in the quicksand of George's sexual abuse.

“Like you do hand jobs and blow jobs and stuff like that?” Martín asked.

Marty squirmed uncomfortably, feeling himself become hard just thinking about Doc. _Maybe I could try,_ he thought, attempting to clench the fingers of his right hand. He slid it underneath his blanket.

“Marty?” Martín pressed.

“Oh. Yeah. Stuff like that.” Marty passed a hand over his hard-on, brushing it through his hospital-issue pajama bottoms and briefs. He didn’t think he could get his hand under the elastic - he had a hard enough time dressing and undressing when standing, without his fingers betraying him or his wrists aching terribly.

If Martín noticed Marty’s actions, he didn’t mention it. He did say, “You better be damn careful with this guy. Now that you ended up here, you’re gonna have social workers and shrinks all up in your ass. They find out you’re fucking a guy who is over eighteen when you’re still a minor, you’re going to be in some serious shit.”

Marty’s erection diminished. He sat up completely on his bed, swinging his legs over the side. “What, for real?”

Martín shrugged. “Plus, your parents probably won’t let you out of their sight, once you get home. Hey, they don’t know about you and this guy, do they?”

Marty tried to run his fingers through his hair, but as they were still weak and numb, he basically just brushed at his hair with his palms. “No, they don’t – at least, I hope not. They know Emmett and I are friends, we've been friends for a while, but I don't think they know we're a couple. My brother and sister know, and I was supposed to talk to them, make sure they kept it quiet, but. . . “ he lowered his hands, and lightly flexed his wrists, “stuff happened.”

Martín sat up as well, sitting on the edge of his bed and facing Marty. “Why? You said it wasn’t your breakup with your girl. Why’d you do it?”

Marty stared at the other boy in the shadows. “Why do you care?”

“Whadaya call it. . . Quid pro quo? You know why I did this.” Martín gestured at his arm. “And the first time, when I was fifteen, it was because my mom had just killed herself. She gassed herself in the garage. You know what I mean? Started the car in the closed garage, and just sat there inside it until she passed out and died.” 

“Jesus,” Marty whispered.

“After I cut myself that first time, the shrinks told me I was depressed, that my ma probably had been too, and that was why we'd been suicidal. They put me on some pills that were supposed to help.” He sighed. “I guess they did. I got out of here, Amber and I were together, and things were okay for a while. Until Amber got pregnant and her asshole high-and-mighty parents made her get an abortion. And then when Amber killed herself, that was like the last domino falling, you know? It didn’t matter how many pills I was on. I lost my ma, then I lost a kid, and then I lost Amber. I didn’t see much point in staying around without them.” 

“What about now?” Marty asked.

Martín smiled; as the two boys were facing each other, Marty could see that the expression, different from Martín’s normal grin, was actually kind of sad. “What, are you playing shrink, McFly?”

“No, I just. . . “ Marty gazed down at his wrists. “Vincent asked me earlier if I still wanted to kill myself. I didn’t know what to say. I know I’m supposed to say ‘No Sir, I feel much better now’ or some crap like that. But I don’t feel better. I feel sorry, sorry that I scared my family and Doc, and sorry that they all have to deal with my shit now, but I don’t feel better. I still feel pretty shaky.”

“You think you might try again?”

Marty shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to, but my life is such shit, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

There was a noise in the hallway; both boys quickly crawled under their blankets, ready to feign sleep. But whoever was in the hall passed their room.

“We gotta talk low,” Martín warned. Marty nodded. The two slowly sat back up.

“So what were you saying?” Martín pressed. “Your life is shit. Why?”

Marty looked away, studying the false-glass window. “Just, well, kinda like with you. Dominoes falling. D- Emmett told me yesterday he thinks we need to cool it for a while. And that was after me breaking up with Jenn.”

“Well, don’t you think maybe he had a point? If he’s older than you. . . You think he wants to stay apart until you’re eighteen?”

“Oh God, that’s so long,” Marty moaned. “I don’t know if I can be away from him for almost eight months.”

“Just yesterday you were ready to be away from him forever,” Martín pointed out.

“But that’s not his fault – “

“I thought you said he wanted to take a break, and that was your last domino. Did that tip you over the edge or not?”

“I – I – maybe – “

“Is it something else? Anxiety? Depression?”

“Well, the whole ‘am I gay or bi’ thing didn't help,” Marty said, glaring at Martín.

“Okay, I get that.” Martín crossed his legs, sitting in the middle of his bed. “You’re with a girl and a guy at the same time, he’s older than you, probably making you do things you’re not comfortable with – “

“Doc doesn’t do that!” Marty almost yelled, fuming. Martín quickly made a “quiet down” gesture, but Marty didn’t heed it. “He’s not the one who – “

“You’re gonna get us in trouble!” Martín hissed, interrupting Marty.

“Then don’t piss me off,” Marty whispered back.

The two sat quietly, waiting to see if anyone had heard Marty’s near-shout. When no one came running to their room, Martín spoke again.

“Who is Doc?”

Marty took a deep breath. “It’s what I call Emmett. It’s a nickname.”

Martín didn’t explore the reason for the nickname. He just said, “Okay, Doc doesn’t make you do stuff you don't like. Who does?”

“Now who’s playing shrink?” Marty said, attempting levity. The joke fell flat.

“Listen, _ese_ , I just thought since you’re refusing to share in group, and you’re my roomie, that maybe I could help.” Martín rubbed a hand under his nose. “Maybe I don’t want to find another roommate hanging from the bed sheets.”

Marty looked down at the floor, blinking rapidly. “I . . . I won’t do that to you.”

“Okay.” Martín took a breath. “Okay,” he repeated. Then he lay down, and turned toward the wall.

Marty remained sitting, watching Martin’s back. He was still wide awake, even after the long discussion (or maybe because of it). He no longer felt like attempting to jerk off, and his hunger pains had abated. But that urge for honesty still gnawed at him.

_Maybe Martín can be a test case. Before I say something to the group – **if** I say something to the group._

“It was my dad,” he blurted, before he could think twice. “He was the one who was forcing me to do things."

Martín rolled over to look at Marty, then slowly sat up. “Your dad.”

Marty nodded. “He’s been sexually abusing me for three years.”

“That’s a pretty damn big domino,” Martín said.

Marty took a deep breath. “I finally fought him off Saturday night, and told my mom the next morning – yesterday morning. Then I went over to Emmett’s – he wasn’t there, I was waiting for him – and my dad found me. He was really pissed that I had told my mom everything . . . and he tried to rape me.”

Martín let out a low gasp. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Emmett got home just in time to stop him. But that’s when he decided he needed to push me away. He said that I was too vulnerable, too confused, because of what my dad did to me. And that screwed me up.” Marty thought for a moment, then nodded again. “Without Doc, all I had was fear and loss and pain. I couldn’t think of any reason to live.”

Martín smiled, and this time it looked more sympathetic than sad. “You know what they say here about that?”

Marty shook his head. “No, what?”

“You need to think of a reason not to die.”

**_TO BE CONTINUED. . ._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marty make a reference in this chapter about how Jennifer's father is a cop. This is from the plot of _Back to the Future: The Game_ ; in 1931 and in the "Citizen Brown" 1986, Marty interacts with both Officer Parkers. 
> 
> Jennifer's police officer dad is first mentioned in Chapter 6 ("Rescued and Restrained"), but as Marty is suffering from trauma and blood loss, he doesn't quite trust what he's seeing.
> 
> Since there is so little in my story that has to do with _BTTF: The Game_ , I decided not to tag that fandom.


	9. Hunger Strikes and You're Out (or) Panic! at The Psych Ward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty's second day in the psych ward doesn't start out well - and then it gets worse.  
>    
> _Marty fidgeted uncomfortably on his chair. "It's just - I hate that they found me like - like I was. Bleeding and . . . everything. My sister was hysterical, and even my brother was crying." He felt hot tears prick his eyes. "I hate that I hurt them like that." He rubbed across his eyes with his forearm. "I guess I was thinking I'd never have to know how upset they were. That I'd be dead."_
> 
> _There were soft murmurs in the room, accompanied by a few nodding heads, one of which was Martín's. Marty looked around in surprise, feeling an odd kind of kinship._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, I thought I'd be nearing the end by now. I do still have an end in sight, but I have a tendency to want to post early. Suffice it to say that before the story's end, Marty will need to get through a new challenge (introduced in this chapter), make a surprising phone call, and eventually get back home. 
> 
> -ck
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies (see previous chapters). I don't own anything but my original characters.

**Tuesday, October 29th, 1985**

**6:45 A.M.**

**Grass Valley, California**

Marty had planned for his second morning in Bedford’s teen ward to start on a more subtle note. Get up immediately at reveille, so he could wash up, get dressed, and make it to the pill line before it got too long. Retrieve his painkillers, and then head to another line in the cafeteria to get a tray of food that resembled breakfast fare.

Unfortunately, he’d only been up for about ten minutes before his best laid plans bit the dust.

Martín had gotten to the bathroom first, and on leaving, he’d kicked the edge of Marty’s bed. “Your turn.” Marty had gone into the bathroom, and attempted to do what he could with his wrists aching and his fingers weak and unable to grasp sufficiently. He could hardly get any toothpaste out of the tube, and then when he tried to brush his teeth, he kept losing his grip on the toothbrush, once actually dropping it in the sink. Leaving the bathroom with an annoyed frown, he’d made it about two steps into the center of the room when the world suddenly went grey.

He swayed on his feet, a rushing sound filling his head as his vision tunneled down. Then, with a final flash of light, time shifted. _Just missing the sonic booms,_ he thought dully. One minute he was standing (albeit barely) in between the bathroom and his bed, and the next minute he was sitting on the floor, his back braced against the side of his bed, blinking owlishly while Martín shouted in his face.

"Marty! Martin! Christ, answer me!"

Marty moved his head away weakly; the room wavered and undulated before him, and he shut his eyes. Martín grabbed his shoulder, shaking him so hard Marty's teeth rattled. "Wake up, man!" he commanded. 

"'m 'wake," Marty muttered. "Quiet, 'kay?"

“Well, you weren’t answering! I thought I was gonna have to call somebody!” Martín sighed shakily. “You were white as a sheet, man. You’re pretty pale anyway, compared to me, but _damn_.” He exhaled again. “You fuckin' scared me. You walk out of the bathroom lookin’ like that, I thought maybe you did something – hurt yourself, you know?” 

Marty started to shake his head, thought better of it, and answered verbally. “No. I just - ”

“You just basically fainted, is what you did,” Martín said angrily. “When was the last time you ate something, you idiot? This is what happens when you don’t eat! And after losing blood. . . You get me, Marty? If you end up in the infirmary, they’re not going to let you go home tomorrow, or even Thursday.” He looked around the room, then glanced at the door. “As it is, I don’t know how you can walk to breakfast, and when they come looking for you, they’re gonna see you’re sick – “

“I’m not sick. I'm. . . “ But Marty could tell, even without trying, that he wouldn’t be able to rise. He felt completely and totally weakened, and thought that if he attempted to stand, he’d probably fall flat on his face.

Martín abruptly rose. “Wait! I have something!” He moved away from Marty, but pointed a warning finger. “Don’t you move.”

“Don’t worry.”

From where Marty was sitting, he watched through squinted eyes as Martín went to his bed, knelt on the floor, and then pulled aside the fitted sheet on his mattress. After feeling around for a moment, the Hispanic teen made a satisfied sound, and then stuck his hand into a slit in the edge of the mattress. He pulled out two wrapped items of food – a chewy granola bar, and a small individual-sized box of cereal, slightly squashed. “Contraband!” he crowed, moving back to seat himself near Marty.

Marty looked at Martín in muted surprise. “Can’t you get in trouble for having that?”

Martín huffed. “You gonna turn me in?”

“No, I just thought that, well, that they’d check for stuff like that.” Marty shrugged weakly. “Don’t they look for hidden stuff?”

“It’s not like this is a prison.” When Marty looked doubtful, Martín continued. “They don’t toss your bunks or anything like that. Sometimes they do random checks, but that’s only when they can tell food starts disappearing, or when someone snitches. Since we’re responsible for stripping our own beds and then remaking them, no one really sees what the mattresses might look like, until someone leaves and a new person comes in.” He waved a hand at Marty’s bed. “Like, since your bed was empty for two days, they checked it out to make sure everything was okay before you got it. But I’ve been here almost a week now. I guess when I leave they might find the hole I made in my mattress, but I’ll be gone by then, so I won’t care.”

Marty understood why his bed had been examined before he'd arrived - the bedclothes had been used as an improvised noose, after all. He again closed his eyes, trying to clear the morbid vision. When he opened them, he avoided looking toward the bathroom and instead focused on the snacks his roommate held. “You just hid those, then?”

Martín gave a half-nod. “A few days ago. Not long after I got here. The first time I was here, two years ago, I’d always get hungry in the middle of the night. So I decided to be prepared this time." He handed the granola bar to Marty. “Eat this. We still have some time before someone comes looking for us; maybe you’ll be okay to walk by then.”

Marty took the granola bar, then immediately handed it back. “I can’t open it.”

“Jesus.” Martín held the package in his left hand, bracing it against his chest, and then used his right hand to rip open the wrapper. “ _Now_ eat it.”

The chocolate-dipped granola bar was partially melted, and Marty’s uncooperative fingers slipped over the messy surface – but he ate it so quickly he never had a chance to lose his grip on the snack. Martín smirked, then held out the battered mini-box of Alpha-Bits. “Need me to open this, too?”

“Please.”

After opening the box and handing it to Marty, Martín got up again and went to the door. He snuck a look out, then expressed a relieved sigh. “No one’s coming yet.”

Marty had tipped the box up and shook most of the cereal into his month; he chewed a bit, meanwhile gesturing at the clock on the wall (which was protected by a metal grid “cage,” similar to the clock in the gym at Hill Valley's high school). “We got some time – they won’t look for us until quarter after, right?” Then he frowned. “Well, look for me. You can go, Martín. You shouldn’t have to get in trouble for being late just ‘cause you’re helping me. I’m a newbie, they’ll go light on me.”

“Not two days in a row.” Martín came back to Marty’s side. “I told you, we gotta stick together.”

“ _Hermanos Martín_ , right?” Marty said, smiling.

“Damn straight.”

The sugar and starch in the snacks that Marty had inhaled gave him enough energy to not only get up, but to make it to the cafeteria without again feeling faint. After getting his breakfast tray, Marty proceeded to eat everything on it, and wasn’t terribly surprised when Martín surreptitiously placed his blueberry muffin on Marty’s tray. “I don’t like blueberries,” Martín said, not making eye contact.

“Thanks, Martín.”

The Hispanic boy rose from the table. “Group in half an hour. You gonna share?”

Marty nearly choked on his bite of muffin.

ooOoo

"It was sickening," Sarah said, "here my mom is supposed to be here for _me_ , listening and doing the family therapy shit and all, but all she could focus on was how embarrassing it was to have a daughter in a mental hospital. That she had to lie to all of her rich friends and say I was in college out of state." The pink-haired anorexic shook her head, before adding grudgingly, "I guess that's the only good thing about this; since my parents are loaded, I can stay here as long as it takes me to get better. Because that sure won't happen at home."

Another girl, this one with multiple scars traveling up and down her arms ( _Toni,_ Marty thought to himself), raised her hand. 

"Yes, Toni?" Carol said.

Toni faced Sarah. "But what happens when you get out of here and you have to go home?" she asked, her voice faint and tremulous.

Sarah smiled sadly. "I already thought of that. I'm hoping to move in with my aunt. I'll miss my dad, but I just can't live with my mom anymore."

"Thank you for sharing, Sarah." Carol scanned the group of folding chairs, and the teens seated upon them. "Who haven't we heard from yet? Marty? Are you ready to participate? Maybe a little more than two sentences this time?"

There was slight chuckling, but it was more good-natured than rude. Marty ducked his head, creeping a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. Unfortunately, his earlier near-faint had prevented him from getting his painkillers before breakfast, and afterward he'd been so anxious about group, he'd forgotten all about the pills. The once easy movement now caused him to grimace, and he pulled his hand back angrily. "I hate this!"

"Can you be more specific?" Ted asked. "And remember to introduce yourself, and say why you're here."

Marty had heard the direction at the start of group therapy three times now, and although he thought the “who are you and why are you here” was hokey, he kind of understood it; the introduction was supposed to connect oneself publicly to the reason why one was in a psychiatric hospital - to help deal with denial, shame, or fantasy.

Marty sighed resignedly, placing his hands in his lap. "My name is Marty McFly. I tried to kill myself on Sunday." He partially lifted his bandaged wrists. "My family found me right away – I just did it on impulse, so I hadn't locked my door or hidden anywhere or anything like that."

A hand popped up. Marty looked at it blankly; Ted addressed the other patient. "Rocky, you have a question for Marty?"

The thin blond boy nodded. "If you cut your wrists where your family could find you, does that mean you wanted them to? Did you plan that?"

"I - I didn't plan anything! I just said, I did it on impulse!" Marty shouted, his face growing warm.

"Marty, calm down," Carol warned.

Marty fidgeted uncomfortably on his chair. "It's just - I hate that they found me like - like I was. Bleeding and . . . everything. My sister was hysterical, and even my brother was crying." He felt hot tears prick his eyes. "I hate that I hurt them like that." He rubbed across his eyes with his forearm. "I guess I was thinking I'd never have to know how upset they were. That I'd be dead."

There were soft murmurs in the room, accompanied by a few nodding heads, one of which was Martín's. Marty looked around in surprise, feeling an odd kind of kinship. 

One of the boys who had nodded, a black boy with a half-shaven head and a bandage covering most of the clipped side, stuck his hand up. "Yeah?" Marty asked. "Um, Tyrell?”

Tyrell nodded. “That's right. So why’d you do it?”

Marty stared. “Why.”

“Yeah.” Tyrell stared back. “You had a reason, right?”

Marty looked at the circle of teens, searching for a way out, but saw only expectant and curious faces.

He wondered on the status of the other teens in the ward. Most were between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, and, as Carol had indicated before, were at the psychiatric hospital for varying reasons. But which ones were there briefly, like he planned to be, and which were confined indefinitely? Sarah had stated she was staying until she was well. Martín was on his sixth day at Bedford, and had told Marty that he expected to be there into the next week. Tyrell, who had tried to fatally shoot himself but had only grazed the side of his head, had waited days for an open bed, yet Marty thought the black teen had been in the teen ward longer than the minimum 72 hours – plus, he was fairly sure Tyrell was not leaving before he was. In fact, he hadn't heard any of the other teens talk about their imminent departures, and some had to be better off mentally than him. Surely Toni, who had only superficially cut herself and threatened suicide but had never actually attempted it, was less of a threat to herself than he was. At least her hands still frickin' worked.

_Is this three-day hold thing just a way to get us committed, and then we're **all** stuck here indefinitely? One big crazy family?_

_What the hell did I **do**?_

_Another fan art from Mcfly88 (Marty in group therapy.)_

Marty glanced around the room again, stalling. He locked eyes with Martín, and his roommate made a “go on” gesture.

“I had . . . a couple reasons.” Marty looked down at his hands, and began to pick at the gauze wrapped on his wrists, as much as his fingers would let him. “I, uh, broke up with my girlfriend – “

Rocky coughed. Marty looked up in irritation. “You got something to say, Rocky?”

The blond gazed back innocently. “Who, me? I just had to clear my throat. Because there was something-“ he pounded at his chest “-that I just couldn’t swallow.”

Martín coughed next; his was an attempt to hide an obvious snicker. Marty sent a betrayed glare at his roommate, and then turned to Rocky.

"Okay, fine, you want to know why I broke up with my girlfriend? Because I had the hots for someone else - a guy. Does that make you happy?!"

Rocky folded his track-marked arms with a self-satisfied smile. "It makes my wallet happy."

"Hey, whatever I can do for you," Marty answered sarcastically. 

"We're getting off track, here," Carol said. "Marty, have you answered Tyrell's question?"

"Uh. . ."

"Is that the reason you did it, man?" Tyrell said. "Did something happen when you came out? Your folks freak?"

"I - I didn't really ‘come out’ - yeah, my girlfriend - well, ex-girlfriend - knows, and my brother and sister, but that's it. No one at school knows, or my friends. Hell, my mom doesn't know." Marty shifted on his chair, his legs jittering nervously. "That complicated things, being interested in a guy, but it wasn't. . ." He took a deep inhale, momentarily dizzy. "The main reason, the really. . ." He rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. His hand was shaking, and his forehead felt clammy. 

“Marty,” Ted said, leaning forward in his chair, “take your time. If it’s too difficult, we’ll respect that.”

Marty quickly shook his head. “No. That’s not. . . Everyone else shared, difficult things and personal things, and I should be able to. I should be able to do this.”

Carol was quick to back-up her co-therapist. “Marty, don’t feel forced to share more than you already have. We want you to feel safe.”

“Safe?” Marty barked out. “Yeah. You’re supposed to be safe at home.” He laughed shortly. “Baseball. I’m talking about baseball,” he muttered. The suddenly quiet room felt small and ominous, and Marty’s heart began to beat faster, sending painful pulses into his wrists. He’d never had a problem with claustrophobia and anxiety until his father had started abusing him in his study.

Martín’s unexpected voice cut through the silence. “What happened at home?” he asked softly, more of a prod than a question.

Marty focused entirely on Martín, letting the rest of the room, and its occupants, slip away. Surprisingly, it helped. 

"My dad hurt me," he answered, his voice soft, but clear. "He abu - he sexually abused me. For three years." 

"Then why. . ." Toni's trembling voice trailed off, then she attempted again. "Why just now? I mean, why just attempt suicide now?"

Marty soldiered on, trying to explain. "I, I finally told someone. My mom, and my brother and sister. They acted like they were upset, like it was terrible, what had happened to me - " 

"What do you mean 'acted like'?" Another girl, whose name escaped Marty, asked. "Do you think they weren't upset, that they were just pretending? Like maybe they blamed you?" 

Marty gaped at the girl for a moment, then looked to Carol and Ted. "I thought they weren't supposed to interrupt! Or that they had to raise their hands!"

Ted frowned at the girl who had interrupted. “Ellie, please try and respect the group rules.”

"I was just – “ The girl named Ellie sighed, raised her hand, and then kept on talking. “I was just asking, because that’s what it was like for me.” She looked directly at Marty. “I couldn’t tell anyone. I mean, that’s what I figured, because I knew that I’d get the blame. That everybody would say I ‘seduced’ my uncle, or some crap like that.” She smiled then, a kind of flirtatious grin. “Especially since I have histrionic personality disorder. But I never came on to my uncle, that’s for damn sure.”

Marty was still staring, not sure how to interpret what he’d just heard. Finally he took a breath, shaking his head a little, as if to clear it. “I – I don’t think they blamed me. I blamed myself. For not saying something sooner, for letting it go on. Because since I didn’t say anything to anybody, then – then that meant I liked it. I wanted it to continue.”

“Bullshit,” Rocky said. Neither Carol nor Ted reprimanded the boy for swearing, and he went on. “ _He_ told you that, right? I bet he told you a lot of stuff, to keep you quiet. Keep you a good little boy.”

Marty blinked. “I – yeah. He – he said if I told, that it would kill my mom. That it would tear our family apart. And that everyone would know. And he told me I liked it, because he could – he could get me, uh, aroused. So he said if I did tell anyone, they’d think I was a freak who was hot for my dad.”

Marty couldn’t believe he was being so candid with these teens that he’d only met the day before. And even more than that, he couldn’t believe the words were coming out so easy. It was like when he had finally told his family, when he and Doc had come over on Sunday morning.

Ellie tossed her hand up, then without waiting for permission, she spoke. “They do that. Sexual predators. They manipulate and shame you, but then sometimes they’re really nice and they give you things, like _rewards_ , to throw you off. They’re smart and – no, not smart, crafty, and they’re evil assholes.” She twisted her face, and any trace of the previous smile was gone. “Especially when it’s a family member.”

Marty shook his head, still somewhat amazed. These kids were not only sympathetic toward him, they _understood_.

And then possibly the worst thing he could have imagined happened.

“Hey!” exclaimed a boy who hadn’t yet spoken. He pointed a finger at Marty. “I thought I recognized your name! Your dad is that author, right? The one that wrote that story about the alien or whatever, _Space Match_ or something like that?” He sat back, nodding. “Yeah. Your father is famous, and he was sexually assaulting his own kid!”

It was like what had happened earlier in the morning. One minute Marty was sitting normally on his folding chair, and then everything kind of went hazy. There was a sudden flurry of movement and muddled voices, and then a set of hands reached out to grasp his shoulders, and he freaked.

He knocked the hands aside, and was up and out of his chair in a shot. But instead of attempting to leave the room, Marty pressed himself in a distant corner, brought his knees up to his chest and put his hands over his head, and began to cry uncontrollably, rocking back and forth with his sobs.

Even over his sobs he could hear Ted directing the rest of the patients out of the room, his voice firm and commanding. Carol stayed behind, and she knelt near Marty, but far enough away so that he didn’t need to fear her touch. “Marty. _Marty_. I’m going to call Dr. Vincent.”

Not giving any indication that he had heard, Marty kept on rocking and crying.

**TO BE CONTINUED. . .**


	10. Stress Fractures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Vincent attends to a distressed Marty, and allows the teen to make an essential phone call. Later, Marty finds his roommate has physically defended him, only there's more to Martín's story. 
> 
> _When Marty finally rejoined the rest of the teen patients, they were in the garden area for their brief outdoor time . . . and Martín was noticeably missing. When Tyrell noticed Marty looking around searchingly, the black teen wandered over._
> 
> _“He’s not here.”_
> 
> _“What? Who?” Marty said quickly, not liking how easy he was to read._
> 
> _“Martín. Your roomie, yeah?” Tyrell asked._
> 
> _“Yeah. Where is he?”_
> 
> _Tyrell smiled; it was crooked, pulling slightly on the injured side of his head. “He got his outdoor privileges yanked, and he’s probably going to be eating lunch isolated, too. I’m sure we’ll see him when it’s time for chores.”_
> 
> _“Well, what – what happened? He got in trouble?” Marty asked, unsettled._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-hey, it's me again. I'm hoping this will be the last "chapter" chapter, and that the next one will be the conclusion. I keep meaning to tie this up, but, hey, things keep happening in the psych ward, and I have to write about them!
> 
> -ck
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies (I own nothing except for my own original characters, and the plot, of course).

Tuesday, October 29th, 1985

9:47 A.M.

Grass Valley, California

When Dr. Vincent arrived in the common room that was used for group therapy, Marty had stopped audibly crying, but he was still sitting on the floor, his head lowered onto his bent knees. Vincent pulled over a folding chair, setting it near the distraught teen and then lowering himself on it. “Marty?”

Marty didn’t respond, only taking a long, shuddering sigh. Dr. Vincent sighed as well, a quiet noise of commiseration. “Marty, it’s just you and me. Everyone else is gone. You’re safe.”

 _There’s that word again._ Marty lifted his head marginally. “Carol?”

“She left when I got here.”

Marty raised his head fully, and looked desolately around the room. “I didn’t mean to screw everyone out of therapy time.”

Vincent made a dismissive gesture. “The session was almost done as it was. So the rest of them get a little extra time in the day room. They’ll probably thank you.”

Marty laughed humorlessly. He stretched himself out somewhat and extended his legs, before finally settling in a cross-legged position. “Do you want a chair?” Vincent asked.

“No.”

Dr. Vincent nodded, then studied the young man. “What happened, Marty?”

The teen looked back suspiciously. “Carol called you. She must’ve told you.”

The psychiatrist shook his head. “Only that you’d had a breakdown in group, and that you’d reacted – excessively to Ted attempting to assist you.” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “I can speculate why that may have upset you.”

Marty raised his own eyebrows. “You doctors all talk to the same. ‘Excessively.’ ‘Speculate.’”

“Well, the extensive vocabulary is a result of the very expensive and through education we achieve.” Vincent smiled. “To whom are you comparing me? Possibly Dr. Brown? I saw in your paperwork that you have permission to call him.”

Marty straightened. “I do? I thought I could just call home.”

Vincent made a “sorta-kinda” motion with his hand. “Your evening phone call, yes. But you’re permitted to speak to a personal psychiatrist, as long as you do so from my office.”

“He's not exactly a psychiatrist,” Marty said. “He's got a medical background, but – “

“Is he a GP?” Vincent frowned. “I thought your physician was Francis Samuels, at Hill Valley General.”

“Ah, yeah.” Marty shifted again, uncrossing his legs and then re-crossing them. “Doc _-tor_ Brown is more like a friend – but I guess you could say he’s a therapist,” the teen prevaricated. “He was there when I cut my wrists – I mean, he was in the other room, talking to my mom about what happened with my dad – and after everyone found me, he took care of me until the paramedics got there.” He looked hopefully at the psychiatrist. “I can really call him?”

Dr. Vincent nodded. “I think it would be a good idea. I’d like to speak to him as well. We can discuss the possibility of placing you on an anti-anxiety medication.” When Marty looked fairly alarmed, Vincent elaborated. “I plan to confer with your mother about this before your discharge. I can prescribe the medication, or you can have it prescribed by your personal psychiatrist.”

“I told you, Dr. Brown’s not – “

Vincent raised a hand. “A condition of your discharge is that you will be required to see a psychiatrist. I can recommend someone in Hill Valley, or here in Grass Valley, if you and your family would rather not go to a clinic where you could conceivably run into friends or acquaintances.” He tilted his head. “Although you will likely be scheduled for at least two visits a week, so going to a doctor who is close to home would be more convenient.”

“I have to tell everything all over again to someone else?” Marty said, dismayed. “I had a hard enough time telling my family, and you, and now group. And you saw what happened with _that_.”

“Actually, I didn’t,” Dr. Vincent said. “You were about to tell me what happened.” He smiled. “You did a nice job distracting me.”

Marty gave a soft huff. “Carol really didn’t tell you?”

_“Marty.”_

The teen tipped his head back, resting it against the wall. “I’m not exactly sure. I was sharing, and it was going okay – not great, but not terrible – and then some kid recognized me. Not me, but my name. He knew who my dad was, and he blurted it out in the room. Now _everyone_ knows, and it hit me, that I’ll never be able to hide it. Everyone will know what happened, because my dad’s an author, a celebrity, and it’ll get out that he was abusing me. Someone will say something, and the grapevine will take off. Hill Valley’s not that big.” He sighed, his shoulders drooping. “I don’t know what happened. I think I hyperventilated or something. Things went kinda dark, and I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was going to die. Everything was loud and echoing. . . Then I felt hands on me, and I lost my shit.”

Vincent chuckled quietly. Marty looked up in disbelief, and the psychiatrist held up an apologetic hand. “No, no, Marty, it was just your turn of phrase.”

Marty smiled sadly. “Yeah, Doc likes those, too.”

“I believe you may have had a panic attack, or an anxiety attack,” Dr. Vincent said. “This is a prime example of why you’ll need psychiatric counseling when you get home, and possible medication,” he added. “If your father’s abuse becomes public knowledge, or even if only a few random people know, you are going to be subjected to their reactions and their opinions. You'll need a support system, a way to deal with that possibility – or probability – so that you can respond without ‘losing your shit.’ I don’t mean respond as in reply, I mean it as in react, or behave.” He looked soberly at the teen. “You tried to commit suicide. That is not an appropriate response.”

Marty looked at the floor, not answering. When he lifted his gaze, he returned the psychiatrist’s scrutiny with pleading eyes.

“Can I please call Doc?”

Vincent rose from his chair, then held a hand out to Marty. “Let’s go to my office.”

ELB: “Hello?”

MM: “Doc? It’s me.”

ELB: “Marty! I – I wasn’t expecting – How _are_ you? Why – I’m very happy to hear from you, but I’m confused. Why are you calling?”

MM: “I’m in the psychiatrist’s office at Bedford. He thought it would be a good idea for me to call you. I – had a, a breakdown, I guess, and I really wanted to talk to you.”

ELB: “Are you all right? What happened?”

MM: “It was in group therapy. I was talking about what my – what my dad did to me, and one kid recognized who my dad was. He even knew the book he wrote – he got the name wrong, but everything else was right. And I lost it. I kinda hyperventilated and panicked, and then I freaked out.”

ELB: “Oh, Marty, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. You have someone there helping you? You said you’re in the psychiatrist’s office?”

MM: “Yeah, his name’s Dr. Vincent. He came and helped me calm down. And he told me I could call you."

ELB: “I’m glad you did. I’ve been worried about you, and I . . . I miss you.”

MM: “Same here, Doc.”

ELB: “I’ve been in touch with your mother. She said you called last night.”

MM: “Yeah. It didn’t go great. We both just kind of cried at each other.”

ELB: “She’s very upset that you’re so far away. She didn’t want you sent to Bedford.”

MM: “I know, she said. It’s not that far away – “

ELB: “No, but she hated that she had no say in where you were taken. And after everything that happened with your father, she felt like she was not caring for you the way she should have.”

MM: “I told her, what my dad did to me wasn’t her fault.”

ELB: “It doesn’t matter, Marty. You’re her youngest, and when you – when we saw you’d hurt yourself – “

MM: “I didn’t just ‘hurt myself,’ Doc. I tried to kill myself.”

ELB: “Marty, please – “

MM: “ _No_ , Doc. You said yourself, not calling something by the right name makes it seem acceptable, or not harmful. ‘Hurting myself’ sounds like I fell out of a tree or off my skateboard. I didn’t just hurt myself, I slit my wrists, on purpose. I might not have done enough to bleed out or actually die, but I _wanted_ to.”

ELB: “Marty. . . You don’t know how much you scared me.”

MM: “I didn’t mean to, Doc. I didn’t think. I’m really sorry.”

ELB: “No, I’m – “

MM: “Dr. Vincent wanted to talk to you. He thinks I should go on anti-anxiety mediation.”

ELB: “Oh. Oh, well, I’m not well-versed in psychotropic medications, but . . . I think that sounds like it might be a good idea, Marty.”

MM: “I’m gonna give him the phone, okay?”

ELB: “Wait, Marty. Is he listening? Can he here what we’re saying?”

MM: “Uh, me, yeah."

ELB: “But he’s not on an extension, or anything? He can’t hear me?”

MM: “No.”

ELB: “I dearly miss you, Marty . . . and I love you.”

MM: “Me too, Doc."

Marty handed the receiver over to Dr. Vincent, and then sat in one of the chairs in front of the psychiatrist’s desk. He was surprisingly calm. Just hearing Doc’s voice – and his declaration of love – had settled him. He almost felt like himself again.

When Marty finally rejoined the rest of the teen patients, they were in the garden area for their brief outdoor time . . . and Martín was noticeably missing. When Tyrell noticed Marty looking around searchingly, the black teen wandered over.

“He’s not here.”

“What? Who?” Marty said quickly, not liking how easy he was to read.

“Martín. Your roomie, yeah?” Tyrell asked.

“Yeah. Where is he?”

Tyrell smiled; it was crooked, pulling slightly on the injured side of his head. “He got his outdoor privileges yanked, and he’s probably going to be eating lunch isolated, too. I’m sure we’ll see him when it’s time for chores.”

“Well, what – what happened? He got in trouble?” Marty asked, unsettled.

Tyrell nodded, then leaned closer to Marty, talking in a near-whisper. “He slugged Evan in the face.”

“Evan. . .”

“Evan from therapy. The one that made you freak out in group? Him and Martín got into it in the day room. Martín was pissed at Evan, for what he’d said to you. Then Evan made some kind of comment that Martín was the guy you had the hots for. Martín laid him out with one punch.” Marty stared in disbelief as Tyrell continued. ”Martín got escorted out of the room, and Evan ended up in the infirmary. I think he’s got a broken nose.”

“How did I not hear any of this?”

“I think you were in Vincent’s office?”

“Yeah," Marty confirmed, "but the infirmary’s in the same wing – Shit, did Martín end up in the Quiet Room?”

Tyrell rolled his eyes. “Nah, he’s just being supervised in the common room. He didn’t fight anyone or have to be dragged out or anything.”

Marty looked for a place to sit, then plopped down on the edge of a cement frame that surrounded a flower bed. “It’s not Martín I’m interested in. It’s a guy back in Hill Valley, where I live.”

Tyrell sat at his side. “You don’t have to tell me that. I know Martín’s not gay. Hell, Rocky knows he ain’t gay.”

“You don’t have to be gay,” Marty insisted. “I don’t necessarily think I’m gay, no matter what Rocky says.” _And no matter what I told Dave._

“But you like a guy.”

“Yeah, I do. . .”

“And you like, _like_ him? Like, to do stuff?”

Marty narrowed his eyes. “I think that’s a little personal, Tyrell.”

The black teen shrugged. “I’m just saying, if you like him _that_ way, then you’re probably gay.”

True to Tyrell’s prediction, Martín was not in the lunchroom, but did reappear at chore time. Marty, whose wrists had started to feel inexplicably better after speaking to Doc, was dusting the day room when Martín came in with a partially full trash bag. He headed over to empty the waste basket, but once he saw Marty he changed direction, and strode quickly toward his roommate.

“You okay?”

Marty, still holding the dusting rag, straightened up from the table he was cleaning “Yeah, I’m good. What about you? Are you in trouble?”

Martín shrugged. “For today. I won’t be at supper either, and I don’t get my phone call tonight. But it was worth it.”

Marty shook his head angrily. “No, it wasn’t. You let him get to you – “

Martín stuck a finger out, hitting Marty in the chest. “No. You didn’t _see_ you.”

Marty smacked the finger away. “I felt it. I think that was enough.”

Martín shook his head again. “No. You – you got even whiter than you got this morning. You weren’t fucking _breathing_. It was like you were in a trance or something. And then when Ted came over, to try and get you to . . . _do_ something, you smacked him off so fast it was scary. And then you lost it.”

“I told you, I’m okay now. Vincent let me talk to Doc.”

Martín lowered his voice. “What? Your – your guy? Emmett?”

“Yeah, but Vincent doesn’t know that. All he knows is he’s a doctor. And somehow it was in my file that I could talk to him. My mom must’ve done that, just said he was a doctor, and nobody checked up on it.”

Martín backed up a little. “What, he’s actually a doctor? I thought you said that was his nickname.”

“Oh. Y-yeah,” Marty mumbled. “He is a doctor. Not a medical doctor – he’s got a doctorate. Physics.”

“Hell, Marty, how old _is_ he?”

Marty felt his cheeks begin to redden. “What does it matter?”

“I toldja, you’re gonna bring yourself a lot of trouble with this guy. If he’s got a doctorate, then he’s gotta be out of college, right? How much school do you need to get a doctorate?”

Marty glanced around the room, to see if anyone was near enough to hear their conversation. Ellie was stacking chairs, moving them aside so she could vacuum. Marty pulled at Martín’s arm, and drew him to the far wall.

“I don’t know how long it took him to get his doctorate – he started college young – but yes, he’s out of college now,” he hissed. “He’s a _lot_ older than me. Why? Are you gonna turn _me_ in?”

Martín shook his head, looking crestfallen. “Just – just be careful, okay, _ese?_ You don’t realize how lucky you are to be getting out of here.” He picked up his trash bag. “I gotta go.”

ooOoo

The afternoon session of group therapy was stilted and unusually formal. The teen patients who shared were no less candid, but no one interrupted, and when hands were raised, the ones who did so waited until they were called on before they spoke. No one pressed Marty to participate; in fact, as soon as he had taken a seat, both Carol and Ted sat on either side of him – either as protection, or so they would be close enough to assist him in case of another attack. He was initially bothered by the obvious seating arrangement, but once he saw all of the teens were also treating him with kid gloves, he started to wonder about what Martín had said. If his “episode” had really had looked as bad as his roommate had indicated.

As for Martín. . . The Hispanic teen sat on the far side of the circle of chairs, as far away from Marty as possible, and he didn’t look at his roommate once.

Marty and Martín didn’t talk again until lights out. Martín hadn’t been at supper, and he’d been in the day room working on homework when Marty and most of the other teens had been able to make their 10-minute calls home. (The fact that Martín, and some of the other teens, occasionally worked on schoolwork, was another sign to Marty that they had either been at Bedford longer, or that they were slated for an extensive visit.)

Both boys had been in bed for about ten minutes when Martín spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Marty said.

Martín let out a hard sigh. “I’m sorry for being a prick. I don’t have any right to judge you.”

Marty rolled over to face Martín. “I don’t know why you got so worked up. You don’t have any idea what my relationship is with Emmett. You don’t know him. You barely know me.”

Martín looked up at the ceiling. “I – I just worry about you. You’re young, and this guy could be taking advantage of you, and you wouldn’t even know it, because you’re screwed up from what your dad did.”

“Jesus, you sound like my brother,” Marty marveled. Martín made a small noise, but Marty ignored it. “And what do you mean, I’m young? You’re seventeen, too!”

“I’m older than you - I'll be eighteen in January. And I’ve been through more. This is my second time here, you know.”

“I wouldn’t be bragging about that,” Marty said dryly.

“I’m not bragging, it’s just a fact. You’re a newbie,” Martín answered. “Plus, how much have you actually dated? You've had what, one serious girlfriend?” When Marty didn’t disagree, Martín continued. “And now all of a sudden you’re with this guy. . . How do you know it’s right? You don’t really have any experience.”

Marty began to laugh, not able to help himself. “I don’t know what’s so funny,” Martín said in a wounded tone.

 _If only I could tell you about my experiences. . ._ “Martín, I’ve known Doc for years, and I’ve had a crush on him almost as long as I’ve known him. I was afraid to initiate anything, because of everything with my dad and Jennifer, and also because of the age difference between me and Doc. Plus, I didn’t want to get rejected, or ruin our friendship. Then I found out that he felt the same way, about the same things. He didn’t know about my dad, but he was worried that if he said or did anything, and if I wasn’t interested, that we couldn’t be ‘just friends’ anymore. And he was concerned about the age difference, too. I think he still is, but when I talked to him today. . . “ Marty smiled fondly. “He was great.” He rolled onto his back, feeling his cock pulse again, like it had last night when he’d thought of Doc. “I really miss him.”

“Terrific,” Martín muttered.

Marty rolled back toward his roommate. “What is your problem? Are you pissed because I didn’t thank you for punching Evan? I didn’t ask you to do that.”

Martín sat up abruptly. “You don't need to ask! That’s just what you do for a brother!”

Marty edged up on an elbow. “I’m not your brother, Martín,” he said quietly.

“No. . .” Martín agreed. “But you remind me of him.”

Marty sat up fully. “I didn’t know you had a brother. You said you had a sister.”

“Yeah, I do. And I had a brother. He died.”

Marty shook his head, confused. “Wha – how old – when?”

Martín crossed his legs, and wrapped his arms around himself. “Not quite three years ago. He was older than me. He – he had epilepsy. You know, seizures?”

“Yeah, I – he died?” Marty swallowed. “God, I’m sorry, Martín. Why – why didn’t you tell me before? You told me about your mom, and you shared about Amber, but. . .” He spread his hands out.

Martín made a strangled noise that was half moan, half sob. “I don’t talk about him. He was my big brother, my best friend. We all kind of took care of him, watched out for him, because of his condition. He was on medication, but for some epileptics it doesn’t always help, and he’d still have seizures. Usually they were the little ones – petit mal – where he would space out, and he wouldn’t respond.” He looked directly at Marty. “Like you, this morning.”

“Martín, I – I – it wasn’t – “ Marty stuttered, suddenly apologetic for a resemblance he hadn’t been aware of.

Martín lifted a hand. “I know, I know it was from you not eating, but when you wouldn’t answer me, I got really freaked. And in group, when you kinda froze up – I’d already been feeling like I had to watch out for you, since you were new and after everything that had happened with my other roommate. Then you start acting like – like my brother. . .” Martín trailed off, breathing deeply. “It just got to me.”

“Jeez, man, I’m sorry,” Marty repeated. “How – how did he die? From a seizure?”

“Not directly. He had a grand mal seizure in the bathroom and fell, and hit his head on the side of the tub. He cracked his skull. He was in a coma for about three days before he died.” Martín sighed softly. “If he had just fallen different, hadn’t hit his head. . . “

Marty was hit with a sudden realization. “When did this happen?”

“A little over two and a half years ago," Martín said. "March of '83.”

“That’s why your mom killed herself, isn’t it?” Marty asked. “And why you tried. Yeah, you were both depressed, for good reason. And you slit your wrists in the bathroom, the same place your brother – “ Marty’s throat clenched, and he couldn’t continue. Martín moved to the edge of his bed, looking at Marty with concern. “Hey, you okay? I didn’t mean to get you upset.”

Marty gestured awkwardly with his hands, still unable to talk. He gasped, trying not to cry and not succeeding. _And I thought **I** had it bad, _he reflected sorrowfully. _Guy lost his brother, his mother, his girlfriend – and she’d been pregnant, and got an abortion –_

Martín was climbing out of his bed. “Marty. Hey, _amigo._ ” He crossed over to Marty’s bed, and sat next to the other teen. “It’s okay, Marty.”

Marty gasped again, wiping at his eyes. “What was his name?”

“Miguel.”

Martín put an arm around Marty’s shoulders as his roommate dissolved into sympathetic tears.

_**TO BE CONCLUDED. . .** _


	11. Restart from Caution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty leaves the psychiatric hospital and returns home. But leaving isn't easy, and life after Bedford won't be a walk in the park, either. 
> 
> _Lorraine's gaze went to Marty's wrists. “You took your bandages off,” she said flatly._
> 
> _He looked down at his exposed stitches. “Ah, yeah. Most of the kids here don’t hide their injuries. Everything comes out in group therapy, anyway, so there’s no reason to keep things covered under bandages.”_
> 
> _“You won’t be here, anymore, Marty, you’re coming home,” Lorraine said, frowning. “We could wrap them up again until it’s time to get your stitches out. . . “_
> 
> _“Why?” Marty asked. “Even after I get the stitches out, I’m going to have scars. Mom, I tried to kill myself. I can’t hide it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the (hopefully) **final** final chapter. I know, I've said that before, but I think this is it this time. I may go back to this story in another vein (small vignettes of Marty's time in the psychiatric hospital, or of his post-hospital recovery, who knows). But I don't think I'll do that for a while. 
> 
> I hope everyone who has read this or stuck with it enjoys the ending. By the by, some of the things referenced in the last chapter may make you say "Was this ever mentioned before?" to which I say, "Um, maybe not?" So I went back and updated/fixed some things so it all makes sense to any fresh viewers (and anyone who feels the need to re-read any portions of the story). 
> 
> -ck
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Back to the Future,_ Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, any of the McFly family members, or any other related characters (except for my original characters).
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, **not** for profit.

**Wednesday, October 30th, 1985**

**5:49 P.M.**

**Grass Valley, California**

From the moment that Marty awoke on Wednesday, which he hoped would be his last day in Bedford Psychiatric hospital, time either moved molasses-slow or at eighty-eight miles per hour. Group therapy, “recreation” time in the day room, and chore time dragged to the point that Marty was sure the hands were going backwards on any and every nearby clock. Conversely, any time that Marty tried to get individual time with Martín or any of the other teen patients, there was never an opportunity to talk meaningfully, so he was only able to briefly express how he felt. He’d found he liked Ellie’s brashness and Tyrell’s direct approach, and Toni’s shyness brought out a protective side to Marty that he hadn’t known he had. He figured it was similar to how Martín felt about him.

After Marty had gotten control of himself last night and Martín had returned to his bed, the two had still remained awake in the near-darkness for several more minutes. Every sniffle or hiccup from Marty had caused Martín to express a worried comment or question, and eventually Marty had gotten irritated.

“I said I’m okay now, Martín!”

“Sor-ry,” Martín had muttered, and the obvious offense in the one word had prompted Marty to feel guilty. Casting about for a way to apologize, he’d inquired about the argument Martín had had with Evan.

“Hey. Tyrell told me how you laid out Evan. Did you really break his nose?”

“Yeah.” Even without seeing it, Marty had heard Martín’s smile. “I heard it crunch.”

Marty had smiled as well. “Good.”

Martín and Marty sat together at supper, and this time neither of them ate much. “I’m gonna miss you,” Martín said softly, poking at his lukewarm ravioli and not looking at Marty.

Marty had given up on his food, and was absently scratching at the stitches on his wrists; he’d removed the gauze wraps, which had become soiled and loose when he’d started using his hands more adeptly in the last day. ”I’m going to miss you, too, Martín. I don’t think I would’ve been able to survive here without you.” His felt his face grow hot as he realized what he’d said. “I – I don’t mean ‘survive,’ I mean – well, I –“

Martín grinned. “I get it.”

“I would’ve been lost,” Marty said. “That’s what I meant.”

Martín looked up at the clock on the wall. “You’re sure you’re heading home tonight?”

Marty glanced at the clock as well. “According to Vincent. I’m supposed to have someone walk me to his office after supper, and my mom should be there. I guess we have to talk about what I’m expected to do when I leave. . . “

Martín chewed ruminatively on a bite of pasta. “Yeah. You have to go over who you’re gonna see after you get out of here, like a therapist or a shrink or whatever you call it, and figure out where you’re gonna live – “

“What – I’m going home! What do you mean – “ Marty sputtered, confused.

“Calm down,” Martín said, putting a hand on Marty’s arm. “That’s more if your home isn’t safe, or if they can’t take care of you like you need. Like with Sarah, she probably won’t go home when she gets out of here.”

Marty sat back, dropping his shoulders. “What about my dad, though? If he’s around. . . “

Martín looked oddly at his roommate. “He wouldn’t be, right? I thought your mom kicked him out.”

“Yeah. . . “ Marty looked at the clock again.

“Well,” Martín rose, then gazed down at Marty. “Good luck, _hermano_.”

Marty looked back. “You too. You still getting sprung next week?”

Martín grimaced faintly. “Uh, I don’t think so anymore. I think I’m here for the long haul. Last time I called home my dad was . . . off. And when my psych called him yesterday and told him I’d decked Evan, I guess things didn’t go great.”

“What do you mean, ‘long haul,’?” Marty asked worriedly. He gestured for Martín to sit again, and after a moment the dark-haired teen lowered himself to the bench.

“I mean I might be here until I turn eighteen, and I’m considered an adult. My dad doesn’t want me home. He doesn’t think he can handle me.”

“But – you don’t turn eighteen until January! You’ll be stuck here for two more months – and through Christmas!”

Martín shrugged sadly. “Yeah. But I’m alive.”

Marty shook his head, exhaling hard through his nose. “It’s not fair,” he muttered. His throat was suddenly tight, and he swallowed audibly.

Martín shoved him on the shoulder. “You’re not gonna cry again, are you?” he teased gently.

“Oh, screw you,” Marty said, blinking against the threatening tears. He shoved Martín back, hard enough that the Hispanic teen almost slid off of the bench seat. Martín was initially surprised, and then he laughed. “Fuck, _amigo_ , looks like your hands are working again!”

Carol was again the one tasked with escorting Marty through the locked wing and to Dr. Vincent’s office. When she reached to push the button on the wall intercom, Marty slid a hand in the way, blocking the action. “Wait a minute.”

Carol raised her eyebrows expectantly. “For what?”

Impulsively, Marty gave the woman a brief hug. “Thanks for – everything,” he said, drawing back quickly.

“Of course, Marty.” The therapist smiled softly. “And good luck to you.” She pressed the intercom button, answered Vincent’s inquiry, and then gestured Marty into the now-unlocked door. He’d only taken one step into the room before he turned. “Carol?”

“Yes, Marty?” she inquired.

“Take care of Martín, okay?”

Lorraine McFly had been sitting in one of the chairs before Dr. Vincent’s desk, but as soon as Marty stepped fully into the office, she rose immediately and went to her son, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Marty gladly returned the hug, inhaling the comforting scents of strawberry shampoo and the lilac perfume that Linda had gifted Lorraine last Mother’s Day. Marty was pleasantly surprised that he remembered the holiday clearly. He thought on his first recollections that had come through the post-time travel memory ripple: the horrors of his father’s abuse, the novelty of his physical relationship with Doc, and the regret of his waning romance with Jennifer. Doc had theorized that those memories were more intimate and visceral in nature, and that was why Marty had recalled them first. He was thankful – and relieved – that he now remembered normal family-oriented occasions as well.

Lorraine pulled out of the embrace first, but didn’t release Marty; she held him out before her, her hands resting on his shoulders. “You’re thinner,” she remarked, her voice thick with tears that Marty had more or less expected.

“Ma, it’s only been three days – “

“And you’re pale,” Lorraine added.

“Well, we didn’t get outside much, but it’s not like October is a prime tanning month.”

“Oh, you. . .” Lorraine swatted Marty genially on the arm. Then her gaze went to his wrists. “You took your bandages off,” she said flatly.

He looked down at his exposed stitches. “Ah, yeah. Most of the kids here don’t hide their injuries. Everything comes out in group therapy, anyway, so there’s no reason to keep things covered under bandages.”

“But you won’t be here, anymore, Marty, you’re coming home,” Lorraine said, frowning. “We could wrap them up again until it’s time to get your stitches out. . . “

“Why?” Marty asked. “Even after I get the stitches out, I’m going to have scars. Mom, I tried to kill myself. I can’t hide it.”

Lorraine winced, but before she could reply, Dr. Vincent spoke. “Mrs. McFly, Marty. Please sit down.”

The mother and son took their seats before Vincent’s desk, both somewhat subdued. Marty felt like he was being reprimanded in front of Strickland. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Vincent smiled at the teen. “It’s fine, Marty. I actually commend your honesty. I just think we’ll all be more comfortable sitting down.”

Lorraine edged her chair closer to Marty’s, and let a hand rest protectively on his forearm. “I’ll be more comfortable when Marty is home.”

“Of course, Mrs. McFly – “

“ _Lorraine_.”

“Fine, Lorraine. I understand you want your son home. I don’t mean to keep him here. But there are some decisions we need to make.” The man looked at Marty. “I was speaking to your mother before you came in, and she and I both feel it would be best for you to see a psychiatrist in Hill Valley. Both because of the frequency of your appointments, and because it would be easier for your mother if she didn’t have to ferry you to a doctor here in Grass Valley.”

Marty glanced at his mother; she squeezed his arm reassuringly. He turned back to Dr. Vincent. “How long – uh, you said frequency of appointments. Over what kind of time period? Like a couple weeks, a month, what?”

“That would be up to your psychiatrist. It would depend on what he – or she – determines you need, in order to achieve and maintain a healthy mindset.” Vincent intertwined his fingers, setting the joined hands on his desk. “And even when that occurs, it’s possible that you may need to see some sort of therapist, not necessarily a psychiatrist, for an extended period of time. Typically that would be less often, maybe once a week.”

Marty stared for a moment, then shook his head, looking at the floor. “I’m never gonna be better,” he mumbled.

Lorraine’s hand moved off of his arm and up to his shoulders; she pulled Marty against her in a half-hug. “Sweetheart, you’ll feel better when you get home. You’ll see.”

Marty dipped his head, moving out of his mother's embrace. “Going home won’t magically fix things. It won’t change what happened to me the last three years.” He eyed her critically. “Where’s Dad?”

Lorraine looked taken aback. “Your father?”

“Yeah. Where is he now? Where is he staying?”

Lorraine fluttered her hands together nervously; they looked like injured birds. “He’s in an apartment. He picked up most of his things the last few days; the timing was good, since you weren’t home. Anything he forgot someone will bring to him – he’s not allowed at the house when you’re there.”

“Did he know where I was?” Marty asked, his voice soft.

Lorraine cut her eyes toward the psychiatrist, and then looked back at her son. “Not precisely. Just that you were in a hospital. He’d heard you were taken to the emergency room, and he called me to ask what had happened. He had called Hill Valley General first, but I had told them to not give him any information.” She sighed shakily. “He was upset with me, he thought Emmett or I had taken you to the hospital saying that he’d injured you, and he was worried he would be taken into custody for physical abuse.” Her face darkened. “I still think he should be charged with assault. But then you – you hurt yourself, and suddenly what your father had done wasn’t priority.”

“I don’t know if I want him arrested,” Marty said. “I just want – I want it over.” He looked unhappily at the psychiatrist. “Do I have to do that? Report him for assault? Go through all of that, testify in court?”

Vincent leaned forward. “It’s child abuse, Marty. Whether it was sexual abuse, or physical abuse. . . And you’re under eighteen. If a police officer had been called after he injured you on Sunday, a report would be on file and it would be investigated. You would most likely not be remanded to child protective services because of your age, but your family would be assigned a caseworker, who would then assess your parents’ competence and determine the safest living situation for you, and your siblings.” The man sat back. “But this is something you'll need to talk to your social worker and your regular psychiatrist about. They will be able to help you make a decision about reporting your father’s abuse, as well as inform you of how you could testify, whether it be on tape or in front of your father.”

Fearful and overwhelmed, Marty turned to his mother. “Mom, I don’t want to do that to our family, make a big production of everything. The neighbors must already be talking. . . Can’t we. . .” He spread his hands. “I know we can’t forget it, but I don’t want to make things worse!”

Lorraine returned Marty’s desperate look with a stern but loving gaze. “Marty, he needs to be held accountable. You – you could have died, if Linda hadn’t found you – “

Marty shook his head quickly. “Maybe. Probably not. And anyway, Dad didn’t do that to me, I did it to myself.”

Lorraine reached out again, this time taking Marty’s sutured wrists into her hands. She held them delicately, as if they might break under her touch. “But why did you do it, if not because of your father’s abuse? Because you felt like you couldn’t live with it anymore?" She fingered the hospital band on Marty's right wrist, pushing it away from his stitches. "I remember some of the things you said in the emergency room, how you wanted the pain to stop. . . “ Her eyes were tearing again.

Marty vaguely remembered the emergency room, the bright lights and the sharp antiseptic smells, the rushing doctors and nurses poking him and prodding him and asking him endless questions. “I – I meant my wrists hurt, and I needed something for them,” he said weakly.

“No, Marty,” Lorraine sighed, sadly shaking her head. “Don’t lie to me.”

Marty pulled a hand from his mother's grasp, to jerkily swipe at his eyes. “I hate that I did this because of him. Because of what he did. I hate that I gave him so much power over whether I wanted to live or die.”

Dr. Vincent was leaning forward over his desk again. “This is why you need to regularly see a psychiatrist, Marty. You have to learn to live with the fact of your father’s abuse, and work through your feelings until you can get to a healthier mental and emotional state.”

Marty nodded, sniffling. “I know. It just – “ He half-chuckled, half-sobbed. “It sucks.”

Lorraine released Marty’s other wrist, and turning away, she smoothed her hands back over her hair. “He knows,” she said briskly.

Marty blinked. “What?”

“Your father. He knows what happened.”

“But - ” Marty swallowed. “I thought you said the hospital didn’t say anything. . .“

“They didn’t. But when he came over to start picking up his things, I showed him your room.” Lorraine turned her gaze to the side to briefly look at Marty before again facing forward. “The floor.”

Marty swallowed again, feeling his throat constrict. “Oh?” he said, his voice small.

“It’s fine now – we had the carpet torn up, and scrubbed the floor underneath. We got you a nice area rug – it’s just temporary.” Lorraine let out a weak laugh, and smiled humorlessly at her son. “Your room is a bit more organized than it was. After moving out all the furniture and then putting it back, Linda and Dave did a little straightening for you.”

Marty shrugged, not really wanting to talk about his room, or even think about his room. “But – but Dad saw it – “

Lorraine nodded. “On Monday. Before it was cleaned. I don’t know if you remember much, but even with all the blood that got on your clothes, there was a fairly large stain on the carpet. I showed your father, and I told him you tried to kill yourself.”

“What did he say?”

Lorraine’s face was grim. “He cried.”

Marty inhaled deeply, then let out a slow exhale, blinking a few times. “I don’t know what to do with that,” he said.

He was suddenly, and inexplicably, calm.

The three talked for another twenty minutes, first discussing the Hill Valley psychiatrist Vincent suggested, a Dr. Lang. "He has an office in that new medical complex, out by Lone Pine Mall," Lorraine informed her son. "I think we should meet with him." The next question was how the McFly family was going to approach Halloween the following day. "I think if we don't hand out candy the neighbors will talk, but I think if we do, I'll feel like all of the kids' parents will be trying to get a look at me," Marty worried. "Maybe I can say my stitches are a costume." Neither Lorraine nor Dr. Vincent agreed with that option.

Near the end of their meeting, Dr. Vincent brought up the subject of medication. "If you choose to go with Dr. Lang, it could be a few days before he can fit you into his appointment schedule, and prescribe an anti-anxiety medication for you," the psychiatrist said to Marty. "I personally think an appropriate choice would be trazodone, but that will be for you and your mother and Dr. Lang to decide." 

Marty stiffened at Dr. Vincent's casual reference to the drug. It was the second time he'd heard the psychiatrist mention trazodone; when Vincent and Doc had spoken on the phone the day before, Vincent had suggested the medication as a possible addition to his post-Bedford therapy. Marty had considered asking Martín if he knew of the drug, but he'd ultimately decided against it, remembering his Grandma Stella's superstition that "naming calls." But now that Vincent seemed stuck on that specific medication. . . _Maybe I can ask Doc about it._

As Marty was obsessing about trazodone, he almost missed Dr. Vincent's next comment. "In the interim, I can prescribe a week's worth of diazepam, as well as provide a few samples from the supply here," the man was saying. "With the late hour, it might be difficult to fill a prescription tonight."

"Wait a minute," Marty said quickly. "What - what is diazepam?" 

"Valium. I would suggest a two milligram dose, to be taken at meal times." When Marty looked uneasy, the psychiatrist elaborated. "That is the typical dose to help alleviate anxiety; it would hopefully prevent another panic attack like you had in group therapy yesterday." The man nodded at Lorraine. "Your mother would be responsible for the pills, and for administering them."

Marty grunted softly. "Let me guess: because I could overdose on them."

Lorraine rubbed Marty's arm. "It's just temporary, honey. Once you're seeing Dr. Lang, we can ask him what kind of medication he suggests, if any. And if he does, I won't need to hold on to it for you forever."

"Right. Just until you're sure I'm not suicidal anymore," Marty said bluntly.

The fact that neither Lorraine nor Dr. Vincent corrected him gave Marty his answer.

Lorraine had brought some of Marty’s clothes with her (jeans, a tee-shirt and a jacket, and his battered, yet favorite, Nike Bruins), so he changed in a bathroom before he and his mother left the psych hospital. Once they were in the car and before Lorraine could even fasten her seat belt, Marty was fumbling with his bulky jacket cuffs, trying to fold them up. "Mom, do you have any little scissors or something in your purse?"

Lorraine looked at Marty with an expression of sadness and horror. Marty was momentarily thrown by her reaction, and then he rolled his eyes in exasperation. " _No_ , Ma, for this." He held up his right hand and indicated the hospital band on his wrist.

"Oh!" Lorraine breathed in relief. Grabbing her purse from where it sat between them, she eventually dug out a pair of nail clippers. After helping Marty fold the cuffs on his jacket, Lorraine made a few well-placed cuts on the band, and it fell loose. Lorraine put both the nail clippers and the snipped hospital band into her purse. "Can you do your seat belt, honey, or do you need help?"

Marty glanced at Lorraine's purse. He knew the samples of Valium were inside, and now his wristband from Bedford was in there. _Not exactly the type of things you take out to show people,_ he thought wryly. _"Here's a picture of my daughter Linda, she just graduated last year. . . And this is one of my older boy, look at those curls - we think David takes after my Grandpa Baines, he had curly hair. Oh, and here is Marty's wrist band, from the time he was in a psychiatric hospital, after he tried to kill himself. You know, Marty, my youngest? The one my husband was sexually abusing for three years?"_

"Marty? Sweetie?"

 _This "honey" and "sweetie" and "sweetheart" are gonna get old quick._ Marty reached back over his shoulder for his belt and managed to pull it across him, but he couldn't get it latched. Lorraine took the buckle and clicked it home, patted Marty on the arm, and then started the engine.

It was past seven by the time they got on the road, so when Lorraine pulled her car into the drive-thru of a McDonald’s before even leaving Grass Valley, Marty was confused. “Ma, I had supper already,” he said, although he actually hadn’t eaten much. “Can’t we just head home? It’s gonna be after eight before we get there.”

“I need something with caffeine,” Lorraine answered. “What about you? Do you want something to drink? And maybe we could split a large French fries.”

Marty grinned tiredly, knowing that the large fry would be mostly consumed by him; the first attempt by his mother to help him re-gain the weight she was convinced he had lost. “Yeah, sure, Mom. I’ll take a Diet Coke.”

Lorraine moved her car up to the speaker, and ordered the large French fries and two medium-size regular Cokes. As she pulled ahead to pay, Marty heard her grumble “ _Diet_ Coke,” under her breath, and he almost laughed.

Once the driver and passenger had received their fast food, Lorraine eased her car into a parking space on the side of the restaurant, near one of the towering lot lights, and killed the motor. Marty, who had been tasked with holding both sodas (the bag with the French fries was on his lap), looked at his mother in growing concern. “Ma? The whole point of a drive-thru is to get your food and eat it while you’re driving, or to get take-out. If we’re gonna sit in the parking lot and eat, we could’ve gone inside.” He tipped a head in the direction of the restaurant.

Lorraine reached for her soda, murmuring a thank-you. After taking a few sips through the straw, she sat holding the wax-lined cup and gazed out the windshield. “I wanted to talk to you. And I don’t think the topic would be easily discussed in a restaurant, where we could be overheard.”

“O-kay.” Marty dug into the French fries, as their heavenly smell had awakened his hunger. Grabbing more than he’d planned (his pinching still left something to be desired) he ended up with a bigger mouthful than he had wanted. “Whaddaya wanna talk about?” he said around the French-fried potatoes.

Lorraine reached for a few fries. “I know you called Emmett yesterday. After you had your panic attack in group therapy.” Marty paused in his chewing. “He called me afterward,” Lorraine added.

“Okay,” Marty repeated.

“Why didn’t you tell me what happened when you called last night? Dr. Vincent acted like your attack was common knowledge, but I had to find out about it from Emmett."

Marty drank some soda, washing down his fries. “Uh, I didn’t want to upset you. When we talked Monday it was a mess, and I didn’t want that to happen again. I only had ten minutes to talk to you.” He raised his eyebrows. “And you didn’t mention it either, even though you say you knew it happened.”

“Well,” Lorraine hedged, “I guess I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

Marty snorted lightly in amusement, then held the French fry container out to his mother. She shook her head. “You finish them, honey.”

 _I figured_. Marty munched on a mouthful of fries and swallowed before speaking again. “I was okay by the time I called you, anyway. Talking to Doc about what happened really helped. Just hearing his voice. . . “ He glanced sidelong at his mother. “You had to know I might call him. You put his number in my paperwork, right? Said he was my doctor?”

She nodded fractionally. “I meant to tell you when we talked on Monday, but you’re right, that was not a very productive conversation.” She took a small drink. “I’m glad he was able to help you. I know he was terribly worried about you – as were David and Linda, since none of them were able to see you in the emergency room.”

Marty had indeed not seen Dave, Linda, or Doc since the ambulance had taken him from Lyon Estates; due to the nature of his injury, they’d not been permitted in the ER area where he’d been treated, and then he’d been directly transferred to the psychiatric hospital. He’d spoken briefly to his siblings during his phone call the previous night, but as all patient phone calls at Bedford were supervised (and usually monitored), he’d said little to them other than that he missed them and loved them. 

“Yeah, he – Doc - said he missed me,” Marty said, “I know you all did.” Lowering his soda cup to the floor, he brushed at his hands in an attempt to knock the French fry salt off his fingers. His wrists were stinging, and he had a feeling some of the salt had irritated the incisions. Lorraine, seeing the movement, lowered her own soda and reached into the fast food bag for a napkin. “Let me,” she said.

Marty watched quietly as Lorraine gently brushed at his stitches with the napkin. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I did this to all of you. I know I scared you all, and that was pretty shitty of me.”

Lorraine nodded silently. After a few more passes of the napkin over his stitches, she sat back against her seat. “I know you’re sorry, Marty. That was another thing you kept saying in the emergency room. And you did terrify me.” She looked hard at her son. “Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again.”

“I won’t,” Marty whispered. Then: “Can we go home, now?”

Lorraine shook her head. “No, that’s not all I wanted to say.” She rubbed her hands together as if to warm them. “We need to talk about Emmett.”

“Doc?” Marty felt a lurch in his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick, like the French fries and soda had congealed into a lump in his gut.

“Yes.” Lorraine was again looking out the windshield, at the passing traffic and the cars lining up in the drive-thru lane. “After he told me you had called him yesterday, he said he wanted to talk to me about some other issues. David and Linda were out, so I went over to Emmett’s place, and we spoke there.”

Marty didn’t say anything; he was having trouble just breathing. Lorraine looked at her son, her mouth set tightly. “Do you know how old he is?”

“Uh – “

“ _Marty_.”

“Yeah. He’s sixty-five. But he doesn’t act like it,” Marty was quick to say. “He doesn’t look it, either!”

Lorraine huffed softly. “I dare say that’s true. He acts very youthful for his age, _spry_ even, and other than his hair, he doesn’t appear much older than fifty. But he _is_ sixty-five, Marty. That’s old enough to be your grandfather.” She shook her head, muttering, “Even fifty is more than thirty years older than you.”

Marty’s head was spinning; if he was inferring correctly, his mother knew about his romantic relationship with Doc. Not about to confirm or deny anything until he knew where he stood, he again opted for silence.

“Well?” Lorraine demanded. “Do you have something to say to me?”

 _Apparently silence isn’t going to work with her,_ Marty thought. “Uh, ah. . . “

“Martin Seamus!”

“Don’t do that, Mom, it makes me feel like a little kid when you call me that!” he exploded. “I’m not a kid anymore!”

“You’re not even eighteen yet!” she disagreed. “How can you – how can you _do_ this? How can you be in a – a relationship with someone so – “

“Intelligent? Kind? Generous? Sensitive? Brave?”

“Old!”

Marty turned away, lifting his hands to run his fingers through his hair (and mostly succeeding). “I can’t believe I’m talking to my mother about this.”

“Well, you can thank Emmett for that,” Lorraine responded. “He’s the one who decided to come clean.” She sighed, then shook her head. “He feels responsible for what you did, and he said it was tearing him apart, being so far away from you and not being able to comfort you.”

The more Marty thought about it, the more he understood why Doc had told his mother about their relationship. Of course the man felt responsible for Marty attempting suicide. He knew that Doc’s guilt began with the fact that George had found Marty alone and vulnerable at Doc's converted garage, and that it extended from there. . . Doc’s recommendation that they stay apart, and Marty’s extreme disagreement. Doc not reacting immediately to Marty’s disconsolate talk of non-existence being better than his personal hell. Doc being unable to see him in the ER, when Marty had maybe needed the man the most.

Of course it wasn’t true that Doc was responsible – not directly. Marty was beginning to realize that it was his own instability, created and exacerbated by his father’s abuse, that had sown his suicidal ideations. At least, he hoped that was the case. He’d hate to think he was so delicate that any type of disappointment or discord would have him spiraling into a destructive depression.

“It’s not his fault. I hope you told him that, Mom.”

“I didn’t know what to tell him,” Lorraine admitted. “His confession, the fact that you two have been – “ She lifted her hands and waved them about awkwardly. "I don't understand this. You seemed so happy with Jennifer. You know she's been calling, her father told her what happened, and she's been beside herself.”

"He told her?" Marty demanded, angry that the officer would have shared something so private with his daughter. "Shouldn't that have been confidential? No wonder Dad knew I went to the ER."

"Well, she is your girlfriend. . ."

" _Was_ my girlfriend," Marty corrected. “And lately, when I was with Jennifer, I wasn’t _with_ her, if you get me. We were just going through the motions the last couple months. When I started seeing Doc, I kind of led Jenn on.” He shrugged, smiling sadly. “I love Jennifer, and I didn’t want to hurt her, but this thing with Doc was just so – I don’t know, secretive, and I hoped if everyone thought I was still with Jenn, no one would really figure out the truth. But that wasn’t fair to Jennifer. So last weekend, I finally told her about me and Doc's relationship. And she and I broke up.”

Lorraine shook her head, placing her hands over her mouth. “Marty, I don’t know. . .” she murmured, her voice muffled.

“Mom, I love him.”

Lorraine pulled her hands away. “My God, Marty!” she cried, staring at her son. “You’re seventeen! He’s sixty-five!”

He shrugged again. “I know. It doesn’t make sense. But it’s true.” He gave his mother a crooked grin. “I can’t help it.”

“Well, things will have to change,” Lorraine said decisively. “At least for the near future.”

“What kind of things?” Marty asked, immediately on edge.

She lifted a hand, and began to tick the points off on her fingers. “You will not be seen alone with him in public. Not at Burger King, not at the grocery store, not walking the damn dog. You are not to go to his home unsupervised. I will accompany you, or David. And you will by no means be staying overnight at his place anymore.”

“Can I talk to him on the phone?” Marty asked bitterly.

“Don’t be sarcastic. I’m not finished,” Lorraine huffed. “You will be permitted to see him at our house. He is a family friend, and with my husband not being in the house anymore, it would not seem altogether strange for Emmett to visit occasionally, to make sure that I am all right. To check the plumbing, and the air conditioning, and the fireplace. To make sure that my car is maintained. The things that George would have normally taken care of.”

Marty’s whole body felt lighter; a tenseness he hadn’t realized was lifted from his shoulders. “I can still see him?” And then on the heels of that: “What did you mean, ‘near future’?”

“You are still seventeen. Things may change when you’re eighteen. But,” she stressed, when Marty began to grin, “things may also change dependent on what happens with your therapy. Your psychiatrist may advise against this relationship.”

“Mom, there is no way I’m telling a shrink about me and Doc,” Marty said. “If I tell somebody I’m in a relationship with a much older man, Doc will get in trouble and I’ll probably get sent back to Bedford.”

“I’m not saying you have to tell anyone specifically about Emmett,” Lorraine said. “But I think you should talk to a psychiatrist or a therapist about your . . . sexual identity, or your orientation." Marty stared wide-eyed at his mother, stunned that she knew the terms. “I think,” she continued, “you need to explore how you feel about your attraction to Emmett, since you were also romantically involved with Jennifer. Are you gay, or bisexual, or straight? Do you maybe just have feelings for Emmett because of some kind of odd connection to your father’s abuse?"

"God!" Marty exclaimed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Mom, jeez!"

Lorraine appeared unflustered. "I think it's a valid question, Marty."

“It's just you’re like the third person to ask me that,” he groused. “Mom, I’ve been attracted to Doc for years. I didn’t say anything to him back then because I was afraid of being rejected, but also because I’d started dating Jenn.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, I was confused about my sexuality, I still kind of am, and that’s probably Dad’s fault. But it’s not like I’m with Doc now because Dad’s abuse made me think I could only be liked by older guys. I’m with Doc because I love him.”

At Marty's second profession of his love for Doc, Lorraine lifted her eyes skyward. “God help me,” she murmured.

Marty regarded his mother cautiously. “It’s pretty weird talking about this kind of stuff with you, Mom.”

She gave him a grudging smile. “Do you understand now why I didn’t want to have this conversation inside the restaurant?”

Marty’s smile was less hesitant. “Hell, yeah!” He wadded up the paper bag with the empty French fry carton, tossed it on the floor near his soda cup, and asked, “Can we _please_ go home now?”

It was indeed after eight when Lorraine and Marty arrived at 9303 Lyon Drive. Lorraine drove past the familiar vehicle parked at the curb and pulled into the driveway. Marty had dozed off during the ride, his head nodding forward onto his chest or lolling toward the window, depending on the turns and twists of the route and roads. After turning off the engine, Lorraine reached over and gently shook her son. “Marty? Honey? We’re home.”

Marty jerked his head up with a sharp gasp, momentarily unsure of where he was. Seeing his mother’s worried frown, he was instantly on guard. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, sweetie. Are you all right? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Yeah, I’m – “

The banging of the screen door interrupted him. Dave came bounding out of the house, followed closely by Linda. “It’s about time!” Dave said as he rounded the car. Then, throwing open the passenger door, he practically pulled Marty out of the car and embraced him. “Never thought I’d miss you, shrimp, but _damn_ I’m glad you’re home!”

“Me too, Dave,” Marty said as he hugged his noticeably taller sibling. After Dave released him, Marty faced Linda. Instead of hugging Marty, though, the nineteen-year-old looked him over closely. “You look like crap, Marty.”

”Linda!” Lorraine exclaimed, horrified. “That’s uncalled for!”

“Fine,” Linda huffed. She smiled sweetly at Marty. “You look pretty good for a guy who tried to kill himself a few days ago.”

Lorraine gasped again, but it went unheard, as Marty began to snicker, and then laugh loudly. Linda and Dave joined in, and soon all three siblings were chortling. Marty wrapped his arms around Linda. “Oh, man, I needed that,” he said, still giggling. “I love you, Lin.”

“Love you too, bro. I missed you,” she said sincerely.

“Let’s get inside before we put on too much of a show for the neighbors,” Lorraine said. Moving behind her children, she made shooing motions toward the house. All four tromped inside, Dave and Linda leading the way while Marty and Lorraine brought up the rear. When Marty passed the entryway and looked toward the living room, he was stunned to see there was already another individual in the house.

Doctor Emmett L. Brown was standing in the middle of the room, his hands stiffly at his sides and his chocolate-brown eyes misty.

“Welcome home, Marty.”

Marty suddenly realized Dave and Linda had made themselves scarce. He turned to look for his mother, and saw Lorraine was off to the side, near the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She regarded the senior scientist and her teenage son.

“Marty, if you need anything, I’ll be in my room – “

“I won’t need anything, Mom,” Marty said firmly.

She studied the two for another moment, then sighing in resignation, she turned to continue down the hall. Marty held up a finger at Doc. “Wait.”

Lorraine’s door opened, then closed. Marty waited a few more seconds, until he was sure that his mother wouldn’t decide to return. And then he launched himself at Doc, crumpling against his chest.

Emmett enclosed Marty in a protective embrace, and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “I missed you so much,” he said softly.

Marty nodded, too overcome to reply. Emmett pulled back slightly, tipping Marty’s chin up and seeing the tears. “Please don’t cry, Marty. You’re home, and you’re all right.”

Marty sniffled, smiling wanly. “Not yet, but I will be.” He leaned against Doc again. “Just hold me, okay?”

And Emmett held him.

_Hold, hold on, hold onto me_  
_'Cause I'm a little unsteady_  
_A little unsteady._

"Unsteady," by X Ambassadors (2015)

****

**_END_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The title of this chapter is an auto racing term. 
> 
> 2) If anyone is curious, I named Grass Valley's psychiatric hospital, Bedford, after Bedford Falls, the fictional town in the movie _It's a Wonderful Life._ In the classic 1946 movie, the main character (George Bailey) contemplates suicide.


End file.
